The Collector
by Sweet Lu
Summary: Hetty has been collecting people for many years, tracking men and women with special skills she thought might one day make them good agents or assets. When she sees a young cop named Marty Deeks in action, he peaks her interest and she puts him on her private list of future possibilities. This will be a multi-chapter story.
1. Chapter 1

**The Collector**

_Chapter 1_

...

She stood unmoving, unable to look away from the violence taking place on the television, her mind filling with memories of her past. Realizing her tea had gone cold, she sat down to pour another cup, this time fortifying the delicate blend with a shot of her favorite scotch as she continued to monitor the chaotic events unfolding not too far away. The face of a looter screamed into the camera, his friends laughing as they carried anything they could carry out of the shattered storefronts of the neglected neighborhood. She quickly gained admiration for the local news crew covering the story, knowing just how difficult it was to navigate in the chaos going on around them. This may not be labeled a war, but it was no different in her mind, and although it wasn't as bad as the Rodney King riots, she knew people would die nonetheless. This one had resulted from the release of four LAPD officers who had been exonerated in the shooting deaths of two supposedly unarmed boys from South Central. A simple, relieved smile by one of the released officers during a comment to the media sent mobs raging into the streets. She thought about calling the Operations Manager of the Office of Special Projects to see if he had any pertinent information to add, but their meeting earlier in the day had not gone well so she let the thought go. She had been sent out from Washington by her director to evaluate the man and provide recommendations for a replacement if she confirmed that his work was unacceptable and his attitude lacking, which she most certainly had.

Her attention was drawn back to the news by the now strident voice of the woman reporter, an attractive black woman she had been watching from the beginning. She admired her coolness in the face of the anarchy going on around her, but the situation had gotten dangerous and the crew had returned to their van, the cameraman continuing to film as they wove through the dark streets. Suddenly a garbage can hit the windshield, shattering it into a web of broken glass, and the van served and collided with a burning car. They were quickly attacked by a roaming band of angry rioters, who began rocking the van back and forth, the voice of the frightened driver yelling for the crew to get out. They managed to escape, fighting their way through the mob, running desperately for whatever safe haven they could find, the jerky movement of the filming adding to the intensity of the scene, and underscoring their dire situation. The driver pulled the reporter into an alley, but a heavy object flew past the camera lens and knocked the man down, his face streaming with blood when he appeared again as the reporter helped him to his feet. The woman tried to reason with the group of men advancing on them, shouting out her sympathy for the two young boys who had been killed, but her words were derided with hostile, angry curses.

The film blurred as a police car drove into the camera's view and stopped, separating the shouting mob from the brave, but shaken crew. A well-built African American cop got out quickly and yelled for the news crew to get in the car, while his disheveled partner stepped out to face the mob. He was without a hat, his slightly longish hair a tangled mess and there were fresh bruises on his face and a bleeding cut above his eye. When one man charged he knocked him down with a baton, his gun remaining in its holster and Hetty was instantly curious as to how he was going to handle the volatile situation. He appeared calm and intense at the same time, constantly scanning the crowd of men gathering in front of him. He surprised her by encouraging the men to go steal something instead of attacking innocent people, telling them there was a fire sale on big screen TVs going on around the corner on west Forty-Third.

"I got a TV, man," a rioter shouted back at him as the cameraman continued to film.

"Yeah, but Christmas is coming, dude," the cop said, flashing a cocky smile. "Don't you have a girlfriend you want to impress?"

"You're one crazy fucker for a cop," the rioter laughed.

"Your choice, man," the young officer replied. "A broken skull or a flat screen."

Two men charged and he beat them back effectively with the baton, making the others unsure, holding his ground while keeping up a continuous stream of witty comments as his partner helped the injured driver and the news crew into the vehicle.

"Get in the car Deeks," his partner shouted as he revved the engine.

"Take door number one, dude," the young cop shouted as he got in. "Make your girlfriend happy."

The cameraman filmed the universal hand gesture the man gave in response and Hetty nodded as she committed the young blond officer's name to memory.

...

Deeks checked the mirror one last time to make sure the band-aid the nurse had given him had stopped the bleeding cut over his eye. She had offered to put in a stitch, but he had quickly declined, getting a laugh and a derisive shake of the head out of his partner. They were finally back in the car after the embarrassing hugs the news reporter had lavished on both of them in the ER, finally pressing her business card into his partner's hand as they left, asking him to call her in a very sultry voice.

"What the hell were you doing out there, Deeks?" Vernon James asked as he jammed his hat down on his head and pulled out of the lot. "You should have pounded that guy into the ground, man."

"Just giving you time to make points with the sexy reporter," Deeks grinned. "She's got the hots for you, brother, thanks to me."

"Hell, Deeks, I was a wide receiver at USC, remember?" James boasted before laughing. "I don't need help getting a date from a scroungy surfer dude like you."

"I'm charming," he replied as they cruised through the ravaged streets. "Women love me, especially nurses."

Things had calmed down a bit and they saw only a few straggling looters, who ran as they approached. The area was littered with discarded merchandise and as they turned the corner onto a familiar street, Deeks swore softly when he saw the devastation done to a local market. The windows were shattered and the door hung loosely on its hinges, the metal security gate bent and useless. The store was dark and crushed fruit filled the air with the sweet smell of apples and melons. They knew the owners, having foiled a robbery here earlier in the year.

"Heads up, partner," Vernon said softly.

"God, I hope the Montoyas went home before this happened," Deeks said, his stomach clinching into a hard knot.

After they had stopped an armed man from robbing their store, the Montoyas had invited them to dinner at their house. His partner had to back out at the last minute, so Deeks had gone alone, having not had a home cooked meal for quite some time, his longing for a sense of family drawing him to the old couple. Their small bungalow had been a revelation, tidy and warm with mementos of their three children, all college graduates with families of their own, their faces smiling at him from the array of framed pictures on a sideboard. Mrs. Montoya had sensed his melancholy and had invited him to join her in the kitchen, giving him the task of chopping up tomatoes for the salsa she was making, while she told him stories about her grandchildren. They were good, kind people and his heart raced as they pulled to a stop in front of the ravaged store.

Deeks stepped quietly across the threshold, his flashlight beam cutting through the heavy darkness. The store was in shambles, but the smell inside was anything but sweet.

"I've got a body," he called out to his partner.

A man was lying face down in front of the counter, his khaki work shirt drenched in blood from two bullet holes in his back. Deeks knelt down and checked for a pulse and closed his eyes briefly when he saw that it wasn't Mr. Montoya.

"It's not him," he said softly.

"I'll call it in," Vernon James said, gently squeezing Deeks' shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah. This shouldn't happen to nice people like the Montoyas," Deeks said as he looked around. "They work so hard."

"Get your head together, Marty," Vernon said firmly. "And go check the back."

Deeks nodded and took a deep breath. He could hear his heart thudding in his ears, swallowing hard as he pulled his gun, moving toward the small office in the back. Stepping past overturned racks of chips and candy, he entered the dark hallway, the flashlight beam finally settling shakily on the closed door.

"Mr. Montoya? It's Officer Marty Deeks, sir."

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his body tense and his palms sweaty against the grip of his weapon, listening intently for any sign that the shooter was behind the door. He saw the knob turn and he took a step back, bringing his gun up, leveling the barrel at the crack that appeared in the door.

"Marty? Dios mio. I am so glad it's you," Angelina Montoya whispered, her eyes wide as she opened the door. "They shot Luis."

Deeks holstered his gun and walked quickly into the tiny room lit only by a few candles and crowded with a group of very nervous people. Luis Montoya was propped up in the corner, his face a grimace of pain as he clutched at his bleeding arm. Seeing the early signs of shock, he knelt down to check on him, tightening the bandana someone had tied over the wound.

"You having a party in here, Mr. Montoya?" He asked with a quick grin, as he looked up at the people surrounding him, all scared into silence.

"Just a few neighbors," the storeowner answered softly with a tired smile. "We were the last store they hit and by that time everyone had come here."

"Let me update my partner and then we'll get a van down here to get you all to safety," he told them, feeling pride as they nodded, trusting him because he was a cop.

It felt good to be helping these people, the thought distracting him as he walked back through the debris of what was once a neighborhood mainstay. He could see his partner sitting in his seat, calling in the details on the radio, when a sudden blur of a man rushed past the car and stopped, shooting Vernon in the face when he looked up. Deeks screamed his name and fumbled for his gun, running toward his partner, as he brought his weapon up, ready to fire. When he got outside, the street was empty. He kneeled by his partner, his hand trembling as he gripped the bloody uniform of the man who had taught him how to be a good police officer and partner, who laughed at his jokes and had his back on every patrol, teaching him about loyalty and service in the brief time he'd known him.

"Officer down," he whispered into the mic, his eyes watering from the painful loss. He knew a cop wasn't supposed to cry, but the tears came anyway and they were angry ones.

"Come out you sonofabitch," he shouted into the night.

A whoosh of fire sent him reeling as the first Molotov cocktail landed inside the car, followed by a second and then a third, the flames flashing hot as he desperately tried to pull his partner from the car. He heard harsh laughter and vicious taunts echoing around him as the intense heat made him retreat just as the gas tank exploded, slamming him back against the brick wall of the store, leaving him dazed on the glass littered sidewalk, his legs splayed out in front of him. He stared at the silhouette of his partner's body against the engulfing flames, his vision slowly graying, and his ears dull to the sound of the roaring inferno. Then he saw them. Two armed men walking out of the reflected shadows of the fire, their faces hard as they laughed and he brought his gun up and fired, killing them both, and feeling nothing at all. He dropped the gun into his lap, his hands sweaty as he gripped it tightly, his eyes leaving the bodies of the dead, watching the flames lick across and curl the insignia of the LAPD on what remained of the side of the patrol car, turning the paint to ash, and leaving nothing but a residue of violence.

His eyes rested once again on the bodies of his partner's killers and he worried that he felt no remorse. He had only been a cop for five months and had never killed anyone before, this being only the second time he had ever drawn his weapon while on patrol. He searched his mind for what to do next, but could remember nothing but what the academy drummed into every recruit..."protect and serve"...and that was what he was going to do.

"Marty? Are you hurt?" Mrs. Montoya asked as she nervously grasped his arm.

"We have to go," he choked out as he struggled to get up. "They'll be coming."

"Where's Vernon? Isn't he with you?" She asked as she stared at the burning car.

"Not anymore," he said and turned away, guiding her quickly back inside the store.

...

Hetty muted the sound of the newscast as the rescue of their reporter and her crew replayed over and over on a seemingly endless loop. She picked up one of the Russian black lacquer boxes her mother had collected and stared at its intricately painted scenes, turning it over reverently in her hands as her mind wandered. Her collections had always been a way for her to deal with the stress of her job. They calmed her, allowed her to focus and finally come to terms with whatever she'd had to do. She had been born into a family of collectors, spending some of her happiest moments trolling through musty antique shops with her parents and later alone, exploring shops that catered to wealthy men and women searching for rare items of curiosity. She had gotten the bug early and her houses were filled with objects and antiquities that had taken her fancy, never tiring of finding and collecting the best the world had to offer.

She found herself doing the same when she entered her current profession, only this collection consisted of human beings who through intelligence and determination had overcome whatever life had thrown at them, becoming rare men and women she could guide toward the path she herself had taken. She sought out survivors, usually those with no family connections, finding the ones who welcomed her guidance, but who had been toughened by life and showed little fear when faced with adversity. The young cop she had been watching on screen had impressed her when he'd smiled at the mob confronting him. She had known then that he had faced violence before, and that it was not new to him at all. Some might have thought him reckless, but she saw something else. She saw a young man to be watched and tracked, a man who was brave enough to use humor to diffuse a volatile situation, to humanize himself to those angry men, keeping them off balance by his odd response to the moment. He had surprised them and he had surprised her, which was why she pulled a file folder and wrote his name at the top.

She wondered if he would become part of her surrogate family. She had several men and women she thought of in that way, some becoming very special to her over the years and she watched over them as carefully as she could, even though she put them in harm's way. G Callen was now undercover with the CIA and Lauren Hunter was in Eastern Europe and out of contact for the foreseeable future. Others were scattered across the world, serving in different agencies or in the military or hidden in secret back rooms full of technical equipment analyzing data. She wasn't sentimental, but she did care deeply for them all.

She watched the repeating scene once again and felt the insistent prick of curiosity. She needed more information on this man and she smiled as she recalled another asset she had discovered and hidden away here in Los Angeles. He was a graduate of MIT, and a hacker extraordinaire. His skills had gotten him noticed by an unsavory group who had used him to hack into a military database in search of sophisticated technology they intended to steal. It was only his hesitancy at the end that had caused him to be discovered and she had interrogated him herself. She had found a nervous young man so brilliant that he'd become bored, which had gotten him into trouble. It would have been a waste of talent to put him in prison, so she had found a place for him locally, warning him that she would always be watching and that one slip up and she would send him to the dark recesses of prison where he would have no computer privileges. That had done the trick. Now she loaned his services to whatever intelligence agency needed his particular skills, the kind she needed now.

"Mr. Beale, I'm in need of your services."

"Hi Hetty. Who's it for this time?"

"That would be me," she answered. "I need you to find everything you can on an LAPD police officer named Deeks."

"That cop on the news?" He said quickly. "Hetty, I'm not sure he's still alive."

"What have your heard?" She asked slowly.

"I've got a friend who's monitoring LAPD frequencies," he replied softly. "They found his burned out patrol car and there was a body inside. Neither he nor his partner has called in since the initial report of a man down. Hetty, they think he's dead."

She took a deep breath to steady herself, surprised at her emotional reaction. She quickly sifted through all the information and shook her head.

"Do as I asked Mr. Beale," she told him firmly. "And keep me posted on any intel from your friend."

"You don't believe he's dead, do you?"

"There is no evidence to prove me wrong," she said softly.

"I've watched the video a couple of times," Beale said. "He's pretty cool. I'll watch out for him for you."

"I know you will, Eric," she said with a tight smile before saying goodbye.

She poured a good portion of scotch into her empty porcelain tea cup and sat quietly at her desk watching the video, pausing it on a profile of the young cop with the unruly blond hair who had captured her attention, his cocky grin convincing her that he was another one of those survivors who should not be written off so easily.

...

...


	2. Chapter 2

**The Collector**

_Chapter 2_

...

He felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he walked back through the destroyed market, his mind now numb, and feeling completely devoid of emotion. The sound of the flames still roared in his ears, as did the catcalls and taunts from the men gathering behind the burning patrol car. He realized he was probably in shock, but he had no time to really consider it, knowing he was now responsible for getting nine people to a safe location. He saw their faces change and become shadowed with doubt when he walked back into the office with Mrs. Montoya, who was shivering slightly now and crying softly, but trying not to let him see how shaken she was. He wondered what he must look like to cause that kind of reaction, but thought it was probably better that he didn't know. He had to be strong now. He had to keep his mind clear and focus on what to do next and where to go.

"I'm Officer Marty Deeks, LAPD. Anybody got a cell phone I can use?" He asked.

"They aren't working. Couldn't get a call out," a grey haired man in a rumpled suit said, holding out the phone as if he could fix it. "I think the system must be overloaded or something."

Deeks swore softly, now having no way to contact the precinct, his radio having been smashed when he'd been blown back against the wall, so he was it. There would be no back up, the thought making him freeze for a moment as his partner's face flashed behind his eyes. He had gotten no response to his "officer down" report before the car was firebombed, so he had no idea whether reinforcements were coming or not, and he wasn't sure he had time to wait to find out.

"You're bleeding," a small Vietnamese woman said, pointing at his leg.

Deeks looked down. His right pant leg just above the knee was torn and saturated with blood and he could see the sparkle of glass reflecting in the dim candlelight and he stumbled back against the desk, the pain suddenly there now that it had been mentioned.

"Sonofabitch," he mumbled. "Anybody got another bandana?"

No one moved. They all just stared at him, making him lose patience all of a sudden.

"If you want me to help you get out of here, then find me a damn bandage," his voice loud and cracking with fatigue and anger.

"The first aid kit is on that back shelf," Luis Montoya said quietly from where he sat on the floor. "Get it for me Nika, it's right behind you."

The lithe young woman hesitated, her eyes a smoky black and full of attitude, but she picked up the kit and handed it to the grey haired white man in front of her, who simply stared at it. A muscular Latino, his forearms traced with tattoos, and his nose crooked like he'd lost a few fights, shook his head and stepped away from the far wall and grabbed the kit. He motioned for Deeks to sit down on the desk and then ripped his pant leg open. Three various sized pieces of glass were embedded in his leg and the man hissed, looking quickly at him with a questioning look.

"If I pull them out you might start bleeding even more," he said.

"Then just wrap it as tight as you can," Deeks told him, gripping the edge of the desk.

The man gently probed the wounds and Deeks sucked in his breath as pain rippled up his thigh, and the man stopped.

"Don't pass out on me, okay?" He said.

"Then quit fumbling around and wrap it up," Deeks snapped.

"You want me to do this or what?" The man asked angrily.

"Sorry. Having a lousy day," Deeks whispered.

"Yeah, well who the hell ain't."

"His partner was just killed," Mrs. Montoya said as she came up beside the man, staring at Deeks with tears in her eyes.

"Sorry, dude, I didn't know."

"What's your name, man?" Deeks asked, his words breathy as he fought to endure the now throbbing pain.

"Vega."

"You've done this before," Deeks stated softly. "Do what you think is best."

Vega nodded, looking quickly through the meager supplies in the first aid kit and then asked if there was any alcohol he could use. Mrs. Montoya opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a bottle of tequila, glancing at her husband with a shy smile.

"Hold on. This is gonna hurt like hell," Vega said as he quickly splashed the tequila over the wounds and then over his hands.

Deeks hissed sharply as he rode out the shock of it, grateful for Vega's firm grip on his shoulder and Mrs. Montoya's tightening grip on his arm. Then Vega slowly pulled the biggest piece out of his leg and Deeks groaned deeply. Vega pressed a wad of gauze into the open wound, holding it there until it was soaked with blood and then grabbed some more and repeated the process. Slowly the bleeding began to ebb and Vega took a quick look at Deeks, whose face was now slick with sweat. The man grumbled swear words in frustration as he pawed through the small collection of band-aids in the kit until Nika stepped forward and handed over a long, dark purple scarf and Vega slowly wrapped it tightly around Deeks' leg.

"Cool fashion statement, yeah?" Deeks whispered to Nika, who just rolled her eyes and turned away with barely a smile.

"You'll need stitches," Vega said. "But, this should work until we can get to a hospital."

"Are you a doctor?" A young, slightly overweight black kid asked as he stepped closer, followed quickly by an older teenager.

"Medic in Iraq," he replied softly before ripping open a couple of packets of aspirin and handing them to Deeks. "Sorry, man. It's all we got."

"Thanks," Deeks quickly swallowed the pills and then laughed as Mrs. Montoya handed him what remained of the tequila. "You trying to get me liquored up, Mrs. Montoya?"

"It might help," The nervous white guy said. "I sure as hell could use a drink."

"I'm on duty, so I'll have to say no," Deeks said as Vega took the bottle and drank deeply, causing Deeks to raise one eyebrow and frown.

He turned his attention back to the others, looking at each person in turn, trying to judge the character of each one, wondering just how he was going to shepherd all these people to safety. Angry shouts from the men outside as they called to their friends reminded him that they didn't have much time before they would have to get away. He looked down at his leg and then slowly lowered himself to the floor, testing his strength, and hoping he wouldn't embarrass himself by falling down. A shiver of pain caused him to stumble as he put his full weight on his wounded leg, but Vega steadied him until he could stand on his own. He limped tentatively in a tight circle until he realized everyone was watching and flashed them a crooked grin.

"Good to go," he said, but he could see the doubt on their faces.

"You lie," the Vietnamese lady said sharply.

"Excuse me? Who are you?" Deeks demanded, losing his patience as he stood to his full height and put his hands on his hips.

"Mrs. Phan," she answered, not intimidated in the least, crossing her arms in front of her tiny frame as she scrutinized him.

"I'm Dat Phan. My wife and I own the restaurant down the street," her husband volunteered as he nervously clutched his hands in front of him.

"I promised to get you out of here and I will," Deeks said, his face hardening with determination.

"We're not going. Safer here," Mrs. Phan snapped.

"Lien, he's a cop," her husband pleaded.

"So what? He's hurt. Not strong," she argued. "What if we get outside and he passes out. What then?"

Deeks looked at the others, the doubt growing in their eyes, and he knew he had to take charge.

"Okay, I need the rest of your names," he barked out like they'd taught him at the academy, pointing at the man in the rumpled suit. "What's yours?"

"Greg Farley. I own the dress shop across the street. Actually I own quite a few across the city," he said, smiling nervously. "Nika works for me."

"How about you two? "He asked as he turned toward the teenagers.

"I'm Keshawn and this is my brother Kamar," defiance in his voice as he stepped protectively in front of his brother. "You don't need to know our last name."

"How old are you two?" Deeks asked, softening his voice and his stance.

"I'm thirteen," Kamar announced proudly.

"I'm eighteen. Why do you need to know that?" Keshawn asked with a deepening scowl.

"You play any sports?" Deeks asked, ignoring the glowering teenager's question.

"Football."

"Can we just get outa here?" Greg Farley whined. "Who cares if the kid plays sports, besides, for all we know he's friends with those rioters outside."

Keshawn grabbed for the man and Deeks quickly stepped between them, pushing the boy back.

"Just because I'm black doesn't mean I'm like those guys out there," Keshawn said loudly. "There are good reasons why they're out there, in case you forgot. The cops killed two unarmed kids."

Keshawn was staring at Deeks by the time he finished, anger and distrust plain on his face.

"Everybody just calm down," Deeks said and then turned to face Farley. "You got any skills that might be helpful? Or are you just gonna keep acting like a prick?"

"You taking his side?" Farley sputtered.

"We're all in this together no matter what you think of each other or of me," Deeks reasoned calmly, looking around at the group. "It's my job to help you survive this night, but I'll need you to listen to me and follow me and help if I ask for it. Understood?"

They finally all nodded and Deeks slowly let out his breath. He looked at each of them before going to the door to listen, giving himself time to assess the members of the group. Mr. Montoya was wounded, both he and his wife the oldest ones here, but he knew he could count on them. Vega was definitely an asset, strong and experienced in firefights, but he had kept the bottle of tequila and that could turn out to be a problem. He wasn't sure what to make of Nika. She was a very pretty girl, her bleached hair short and spiky, and her fingernails painted black to match her clothes. She had willingly given him her scarf, but she obviously didn't trust easily, keeping her distance from the group and especially from her boss, Farley. Keshawn didn't want anything to do with him, but he was big and strong, trained to understand what being part of a team meant and that was a plus. His little brother was different. He seemed innocent and immature for his age, a bit of a nerd maybe, his glasses constantly slipping down his nose as he followed his brother's lead. The two seemed to be inseparable, the older one very protective of Kamar, and he envied the kid for that. The Phans were his biggest worry. She was obviously the dominant one, but she was tough, he could see the steel in her eyes and in the way she held herself. If he could get her on his side, her husband would follow, but definitely not the other way around.

The sound of the mob outside had lessened and Deeks cracked open the door, taking a step out into the dark hall. His patrol car was smoldering now, and he could see a few men arguing over the dead men sprawled on the sidewalk. He let his eyes stray to the car, searching for his partner's body, but afraid to find it. They had been on patrol for eleven hours before they had come here, everyone pulling double shifts because of the riots, and he was beginning to feel the exhaustion draining his strength. He could hear Vernon's voice running through his head, encouraging him as he always had, razzing him for not being able to keep up when they ran together and he felt the prick of tears that he couldn't afford to shed.

Vernon had been a constant in his life for the past five months. In the beginning he'd felt unsure around his partner, wanting to make a good impression by doing a good job, but wary of him whenever he asked personal questions. As normal as that was to most people, it was a land mine for him, making him anxious, unwilling to let the man too close, deflecting his questions with jokes and innuendos. The day Vernon called him on it was the best lesson he ever learned about being a good partner. Vernon told him he could tell him anything and it wouldn't change a thing. He told him he would stand by him no matter what and then had told him about his own childhood and his mother's addiction to heroin. Then he had asked him if he thought of him any differently and Deeks had just stared at him, not quite believing that the man had trusted him with such personal information. He hadn't replied right away, but his partner had been patient, telling him when he was ready to come talk to him and he had. They had sat at an isolated picnic table in Griffith Park and Deeks told him a few things about his own childhood, not everything, not the hardest thing, but enough. Vernon had thrown an arm around him afterwards, surprising the hell out of him and they had been friends ever since that day. He felt a raw stab of pain at the memory, angry to lose such a good man, a rare friend, and reached up to steady himself on the door frame, gathering whatever reserves he still had before stepping back inside the office.

"You choose a college yet?" He quietly asked Keshawn.

"What? Why do you need to know that? It's none do your business," the boy's response seething with suspicion.

"My partner was a wide receiver at USC," Deeks said quietly as he looked solemnly at the kid. "He said it was the best school in the country, with a great football program. He was proud to go there. Just think about it. Okay?"

The boy nodded, looking uncertain at the kind words.

"We're leaving now," Deeks said as he pulled his gun, checking it and the two extra mags he had on his belt. "We'll stay to the back streets and alleys. Stay close to me. Vega you take the rear and keep them moving."

"You wouldn't happen to have a another gun would you?" Vega asked as he took another drink from the bottle of tequila.

"We have a .38 revolver in the desk," Luis Montoya offered as he struggled to his feet. "No extra bullets though."

Mrs. Montoya opened the drawer and quickly handed the gun to Deeks with two fingers. He smiled at her and then turned to confront Vega.

"You give me that bottle and I'll give you the gun," he said. "Otherwise, it ain't gonna happen, brother."

Vega hesitated, but only briefly before agreeing and the gun changed hands, the bottle of tequila disappearing back into the bottom drawer.

"Six rounds ain't much," Vega grunted out.

"Well, we're not going to shoot anybody unless we have to," Deeks said, staring down the rough looking man.

"You're the boss, amigo," Vega replied flippantly.

"Shouldn't we wait here for help?" Farley asked, loosening his tie in the suffocating warmth of the crowded room.

The sound of footsteps outside in the hall silenced Deeks' reply and he motioned for everyone to get down as he pulled his baton, holding it in his left hand, his Beretta gripped tightly in his right. He could feel the fear emanating from the people behind him, knowing this would be the first test for them as a group. He held his breath as the doorknob turned and he heard someone whimper. The door swung open on the startled face of a hefty looking Latino clutching several large bags of potato chips, his fat neck covered in gang tattoos. He was shoved aside by his slimmer companion who charged Deeks without a word, followed closely by another man. Deeks sidestepped the first guy, slamming the baton down on the back of his head. The third man paused as his friend collapsed in a heap on the floor, but spewed out a string of curses as he grabbed Kamar, yanking him out of the corner, and backhanding Keshawn who rushed forward to help his brother.

"Let him go," Deeks said as he leveled his gun at the man.

"No way, pendejo," the man snarled and began backing out of the room, his arm wrapped tightly around Kamar's neck.

Deeks could see the panic on the young boy's face, teary eyes begging and focused on his brother, his soft hands gripping the man's arm. Keshawn moved up close behind Deeks and he could hear him breathing heavily, almost moaning with worry. He heard some of the others move forward as well and he saw Vega raise the .38 out of the corner of his eye.

"Please," Keshawn whispered.

"Let him go, or I'll shoot you," Deeks warned as he took a step closer.

"What if you miss and hit the kid?"

"I won't. Top of my class at the academy," he said, flashing a cocky grin that didn't match the intensity in his eyes. "Just ask the two dead guys out by the burning car. Oh yeah, they aren't talking too much anymore."

The gang-banger glanced nervously toward the street, licking his lips as he pulled the boy back into the hallway. He suddenly shoved Kamar toward Deeks, pushing the fat guy with the potato chips out of his way as he ran. Keshawn rushed forward to catch the boy, the two holding each other tightly as Kamar started shaking. The look of relief and gratitude in the teenager's eyes touched Deeks and he nodded at him as he moved quickly into the empty hall to see the potato chips discarded and crushed.

"Top of your class? Impressive," Vega said quietly as he came up next to him.

"Seventh, actually," Deeks grinned. "In the top ten though."

"We better get the hell out of here before he comes back with his buddies," Vega said.

"I knew you were smarter than you looked," Deeks laughed quickly as he clapped the man on the shoulder.

"Fuck you, amigo," Vega said with a grin.

"We're probably all fucked," Deeks said somberly. "Just don't tell the others."

...

It had taken close to ten minutes for Eric Beale's heart rate to go down after he got off the phone with Hetty, which was a lot sooner than it used to be. The very first time he'd seen her was in a claustrophobic room in the sterile government building they'd taken him to after four armed men dressed in black had busted down the door to his room two years ago. He had been living with a friend then, now a former friend, and his heart had raced so fast he had almost passed out. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off the ominous looking weapons, the dark gleam off the surface mesmerizing him. One of the Feds had noticed he was hyperventilating and pushed him into a chair and shoved his head down between his legs. His mind had flashed on all the video games he had ever played and he had become convinced that they were going to chop his head off, of course he realized later those thoughts might have been the result of the ecstasy he'd taken that morning. By the time he saw Hetty he had spent the night in a cold holding cell and the effects of the drug were gone, replaced by a fear so deep he'd found it hard to breathe.

He could still picture the interrogation room and feel the air conditioning, which hadn't reduced his nervous sweating at all, it had simply added to the chill he'd felt since the morning his world fell apart. He'd expected to be interrogated. He wasn't totally naive, but he expected some huge military brute to come in and intimidate the hell out of him, so when he saw Hetty walk in he relaxed slightly. He knew he was brilliant, and had begun to think he just might be able to talk his way out of the mess he found himself in. He had never been so wrong in all of his life, accept when he had agreed to hack into a super secret military database for a couple of well-dressed foreigners. He hadn't cared about the money, but the challenge had been too tempting to pass up. He had hacked other government sites before and was well known for his escapades in the hacker community, but the little lady that sat down in front of him that day couldn't possibly know about that.

She had been dressed in a burnt orange double-breasted pants suit, a colorful scarf pinned with an amber brooch that looked expensive. Her glasses were round, the frames tortoise-shell and her hair was short and framed her face, giving her a no nonsense look. It had been her quizzical smile that had caused him to relax. She seemed openly curious about him and his ego had swelled. She said nothing to him, hadn't introduced herself, just sat scanning a series of papers from a classified file she had open in front of her. Then she calmly began to list all of his assaults, as she'd called them, on every government site he had ever hacked. That's when he had begun to sweat even more, because she'd spoken so quietly with that enigmatic smile still on her face. She had told him his life story, his IQ, his grades and the accolades he had received at MIT. She even knew about his estrangement from his parents, which was what had hurt him the most, because they had been informed of his arrest. She laid out his crime in plain, stark language, making him realize that she considered him a traitor and scaring the shit out of him so badly that he had started to tremble, tears slowly trailing down his face as she spoke. She asked him no questions until the very end, after he had apologized so profusely she had held up her hand to make him stop. Then she had given him a choice; work for her and the government or be sent to prison for the rest of his life, never to see or touch another computer again.

He remembered dropping his head and the gentle touch of her hands when she'd placed them on his and slowly began to tell him how brilliant she thought he was and how she could help him use his talent to make the world a better place. She had told him she would set him up in his own apartment with the very latest equipment and technology, with access to information he could only dream of. He remembered looking up at her, not quite believing what she was saying, but she had smiled and patted his hands, pushing a pen and paper across the table for him to sign, and he'd realized she already knew his answer. When she got up, she had walked to the end of the table and looked down at the Star Wars pajama pants he was still wearing, and had laughed and shook her head, saying she'd always had a soft place in her heart for men who knew how to dress appropriately.

That had been almost two years ago and he had done whatever she asked, whenever she called. He owed her his life and she knew it. Now he was hacking into the juvenile records of another man she had set her sites on and he knew that if he was still alive, the poor bastard had no chance in hell of escaping if she decided she wanted him.

...

...


	3. Chapter 3

**The Collector**

_Chapter 3_

...

It was well past two in the morning when her computer alerted her to incoming files. She smiled at how little time it had taken Eric Beale to collect a life's worth of information about the man she was so curious about. The one time hacker had become a favorite of hers and she enjoyed working with him, especially when he surprised her with a quick assessment of multiple bits of intel. But she had come to rely heavily on his main strength, which was his refusal to be deterred if one avenue of discovery was cut off, always searching diligently until he found what she had asked for.

She wandered into the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea, her indulgence in her favorite scotch having dulled her senses slightly. She could hold her liquor quite well under normal circumstances, but she had taken the red eye out from Washington yesterday and had slept poorly due to her concern for one of her undercover agents. She had now been awake for almost eighteen hours and needed a strong cup of black tea to sharpen her mind as she reviewed the files Eric had compiled on Officer Marty Deeks. Her gut instinct told her there was great depth in the young man, but she had been wrong before, not often, but she wasn't perfect no matter what the urban legend whispered.

Finally settling down with a cup of Nepali tea, she opened Eric's email, nodding her appreciation at the heavy security shrouding the attached files. No one but the two of them had access to her particular encryption code, insuring that whatever private information he'd culled would remain that way. She had no desire to put the young cop at risk if the information got into the wrong hands. She had come to prize Mr. Beale's attention to security on the first job she'd worked with him, recalling his nervy, overly dramatic laugh when one of her agents questioned his privacy protocols during a joint task force meeting. He had showed them all just how easy it was to steal information floating around in cyberspace and even in supposedly secure emails, especially between two private parties with highly classified security clearances. The agent had come close to throttling the former hacker when Eric filled the big screen with several very intimate emails between the agent and a very attractive colleague. Hetty advised the agent that getting on Eric's bad side was probably not a good idea, and she'd reminded Eric that the agent was once a black ops sniper and it was best not to poke one of those with a sharp stick by revealing personal details to his bosses and peers.

After opening the extensive files on Officer Deeks she was drawn to the one labeled childhood. She always felt it best to start at the beginning, knowing how impressionable the very young are, and how early experiences informed behavior that followed you through life. She had taken one young girl from a Russian orphanage, her bribe not exorbitant, but she thought well worth it based on who her parents had been. It had taken years for her to discover that the girl's early childhood had impacted her so deeply that she was unable to function in the clandestine world Hetty had hoped to use her in. Both her parents had been brilliant Russian agents, sometime associates of one of her aliases, and when she had been informed of their brutal deaths, she had found a way to get their only child out of Russia. Intelligence wasn't the only factor in a good agent. There were unknown elements; those so hard to define or even anticipate that could combine to produce a remarkable human being capable of moving through her kind of world. The Russian girl had had all the benefits of a loving home, with brilliant, but somewhat absentee parents, yet she lacked that certain something that agents need to persevere. It was if she lacked a survival instinct, missing the strength of character that needed to be honed early on in life, leaving her too passive and ultimately unsuitable. She now worked at one of the agencies in Washington, happily married and content. Hetty smiled as she set down her cup, reflecting on the fact that being content had never been one of her own strong points.

Turning again to the file on Officer Deeks' childhood, she felt the thrill she always did when she began to delve into a new target's past. It was intoxicating and addictive, a familiar sense of urgency driving her to discover another hidden treasure, that craving having been developed early in life when searching through some odd shop for something rare to add to her collections. She felt the bewitching rush and took a small calming breath, opening the file with great anticipation.

Eric had not only hacked Deeks' juvenile record, but apparently hospital records as well. Those were the files she opened first, her eyes flashing with sudden anger as one of the photos expanded to full screen. Sad blue eyes peered out of the beaten face of a child no older than four, his body bruised and his arm in a small cast. He looked so frail, on the edge of tears and she wondered how on earth he was still standing. This had been his life. He had faced unreasonable violence so early in life that she was certain he wasn't surprised at all by the violence he'd witnessed tonight. It was familiar. It had been a part of him almost from the beginning, making her even more curious as to how he had been able to laugh in the face of those men tonight. She understood that there were many ways to deal with fear and confrontation, and humor was one of them, but as she looked through the hospital records she wondered how he had not been ruined by the brutality rained down on him by his own father through most of his childhood. What had that done to him that she couldn't see behind those blue eyes and cocky grin on the news footage? Some were able to hide their wounded souls and she wondered if he might be one of the more adept at it, presenting a friendly confidence while harboring a dark pain pushed down deep and kept hidden.

...

"They know you're here, Mrs. Phan," Deeks said softly as he waited in front of the stubborn woman. "Do you really think they'll leave you alone?"

The others had already made their way out the back door and into the dark alley, most having encouraged the tiny woman to come, even Nika had said something even though it had been to call her stupid. Still she hesitated, eyeing him angrily as her husband pleaded with her.

"Please, ma'am," he said as he looked over to see Keshawn motioning nervously for them to come.

"It's your fault they found us," she said harshly. "You cops killed those boys and caused all this. Then you kill those two outside and now everybody mad at us."

"They shot my partner in the face and firebombed our patrol car," he snapped, quickly losing patience, unsure just how to convince her and wishing once again that Vernon was here.

"Deeks. Gotta go, man," Vega said urgently from the doorway. "People are getting restless. They're scared."

Deeks dropped his head to his chest, his anger at the woman simmering, trying to decide whether to leave her even though he knew he couldn't no matter how irritating she was. It was his job to protect her whether she wanted his help or not, so he cocked his head, looked at her husband and picked the little woman up in his arms and walked out the door. The look of surprise on her face almost made him laugh, but the sudden sound of glass breaking and the burst of exploding fire behind them had Mrs. Phan throwing her arms around his neck and screeching as he ran for the back door. Vega slammed the door closed behind him as he hastily set Mrs. Phan down, the woman now whimpering, her eyes wild and her chin quivering with fear. Pulling his weapon, he motioned for the group to follow him into the dark shadows of the alley as the roar of more firebombs and shouts of triumph sounded ominously behind them. The Montoyas seemed unable to turn away and Deeks came back to gently guide them back to the group, Mrs. Montoya's hand finding his arm, her grip tight and needy. They made their way to the end of the alley and then quickly crossed a narrow space between buildings; the loud shouts from the rioters in the streets and the echo of gunshots all around had Deeks urging them to move faster.

The fetid smell of garbage hung in the air as he finally motioned them to a stop by a long line of overflowing dumpsters. They had only managed to traverse two short blocks, but he could see that they all needed to rest. He scanned the way they had come, panting now with fatigue and uncertainty and he closed his eyes hoping to clear his mind and recall the layout of the streets ahead of them.

"Where we headed, amigo?" Vega asked in a hushed voice, looking quickly around as the sounds of unrest reverberated off the dirty walls that loomed above them.

"Luis needs a doctor," Mrs. Montoya whispered.

"So do you, man," Vega reminded him, nodding toward the blood soaked scarf on his leg.

"The hospital is too far away," he said quickly. "We'll have to try for the Southwest Police Station. It's only five blocks away and the closer we get the more likely we'll run into some patrols."

"This is crazy," Farley complained as he punched a number into his cell phone. "Shit! No service. We're gonna die out here."

"Nobody's gonna die, so keep it down," Deeks said as he grabbed the guy's arm and pulled him toward him. "Look, I know you're scared, but I promise to protect you, okay? Now, let's move."

"You're just one guy," Farley continued breathlessly, following closing behind Deeks.

"You a coward," Mrs. Phan said with disgust as she walked past the man. "He's not."

Deeks huffed out a laugh at the woman's sudden support and got a clap on the back from Vega. He saw that Keshawn was now helping Mr. Montoya and he nodding gratefully at him as he checked the rear. He wasn't sure how long it would be before the gang-bangers came looking for them, but he was pretty sure they would when they discovered they weren't in the building burning to death.

"Deeks," Vega's voice came out low and he turned toward the warning he heard in it.

He saw three black men step out the open back door of a shop just up ahead, one swinging a heavy chain as he stood menacingly in the darkness. He couldn't lead these people out onto Forty Fifth, which was now raging with roving gangs and rioters, and they couldn't go back to the store and these three idiots stood between them and the police station he was trying to get to. Feeling pissed after the shattering day he'd had, he pulled his weapon and walked past the huddled group of people he was determined to protect. Raising the gun, he pointed it the big guy in the middle.

"LAPD. Get the fuck outa here before I shoot you," he said wearily as he closed on them.

Their laughter pissed him off even more, but he didn't want to kill them so he fired at their feet, making the man with the chain swear loudly as he backed up. A half bottle of whiskey smashed into the asphalt at his feet, causing him to turn just as a man plowed into him from out of the shadow of a dumpster. He heard Mrs. Montoya shout his name as he went down, his gun firing harmlessly on impact. He was surrounded by kicking feet, his shoulder blade exploding in pain as the heavy chain slammed down on him. He managed to kick one of the men in the ankle, and a scream of angry curses let him know he had done some damage as the man hopped away, allowing him some space to maneuver. A powerful punch to the groin of the man with the chain, gave him time to regain his feet, but his gun was gone and as he turned to face a big man in a tank top, Keshawn rushed past and drove his shoulder into the man's stomach, crushing his body against the dumpster and knocking him out. When Deeks swung around to confront the last man, he saw Vega pistol whip the guy to the ground, and stand over him with Montoya's revolver pointed down at him, cursing loudly as he visibly shook with anger. Deeks could see the strain on the former medic's face and he reached out and put a hand on his trembling arm and began to speak softly to him.

"You don't want to kill anybody, man," Deeks said.

"They would have killed you," he gritted out. "And us and laughed about it afterwards."

"But that's not you. You're a medic. Remember that," Deeks said gently. "I don't want to arrest you, brother. I was just starting to like you."

"I don't usually go for blonds," Vega grinned and relaxed slightly, finally taking a step back.

"You're loss, buddy," Deeks laughed as he walked over and picked up his weapon, turning to check on Keshawn.

"You okay?" He asked. "Great tackle, man. I figured you for a receiver or a quarterback."

"Defensive end," Keshawn said coolly.

Two of their assailants were unconscious and the man he'd punched in the groin was moaning softly in a fetal position, and he suddenly remembered the man he'd kicked in the ankle. He turned to see little Mrs. Phan holding the metal lid of a garbage can with the man out cold at her feet.

"You're scary," he said quietly with a grin.

"Hey guys," Kamar called out as he pointed back down the alley. "They're coming."

"Time to go," Deeks said, hurrying the group up the alley and around the corner.

The side street they were now on still had a few streetlights working, but several cars were on fire and they had to weave their way around discarded appliances. Shouted threats floated in the still air, and the smell of burning rubber and acrid smoke added to Deeks unease and he urged them to run. He heard someone cry out as they stumbled and fell and he turned back to see Keshawn yell to his brother who lay crying in the gutter. Nika ran forward and grabbed Kamar's arm and pulled him to his knees as Keshawn reached them, the two of them finally getting the kid to his feet as Deeks looked back to see the first gang-banger rush out into the street behind them. Once he got them moving again, he nodded a silent thank you at Nika who simply shrugged, her mouth open as she panted and ran. Mr. Montoya was struggling to keep up, so Deeks draped his arm around his neck, the added weight making him limp heavily, his vision slowly graying at the edges.

"I'll take him," Vega said beside him, quickly shouldering the old man's weight.

The group was now strung out along the ever darkening street, their pace slowing the longer they ran. The streets were eerily empty of traffic and there was no sign the police were anywhere in the vicinity. Most of the buildings here were deserted and the retail stores already sacked and looted, and there was no place to hide, so Deeks stayed at the rear, covering the group as they fled. The gang was closing on them, whooping out insults and hate-filled threats, throwing full cans of soda and empty bottles of booze at them as they trailed behind, enjoying the chase. Deeks did not want to get into a running gun battle, not sure if the men were armed or not. The police didn't need another incident that might extend the rioting, but he couldn't allow this group of people to be hurt. They were his responsibility, the possessiveness of the thought and his sudden emotions surprising him.

Greg Farley cried out and collapsed, hit in the head from behind by a heavy bottle. Deeks raced to his side, fighting to catch his breath as two of the attackers closed the distance between them. He stood his ground over Farley's unconscious body and raised his gun, hoping the threat would be enough to make the men stop, but they kept coming. The glint of a knife gave him no choice, and he fired, hitting the man in the shoulder, his scream causing the other gang member to slow and then stop, rage twisting his face as he cursed him in Spanish.

"Take your buddy and leave, or I'll shoot you too," Deeks said roughly, feeling the welcome rush of adrenaline as he advanced on the man.

He knew he didn't have much time until the other members of the gang reached them, so he fired a bullet into the wall next to the man.

"We're gonna kill you, cop," he snarled.

"No esta noche," Deeks drawled.

Vega was suddenly next to him, his gun in position and ready to fire. The man began to back away and then turned and ran, leaving his friend bleeding on the sidewalk.

"Check on Farley," Deeks ordered as he checked on the now unconscious gang-banger.

Farley was babbling incoherently as they lifted him to his feet, supporting him between them as they made their way back to the others. Deeks took a deep breath as his adrenaline faded, looking up to see the exhausted group duck into an alley, thankful the streetlight was broken, the gang member's threat still screaming in his ears. When he reached the group, Mrs. Phan was pointing to a roll-up door that was partially open, a cheery, painted sign indicating they were about to take refuge in the Mei Mei Noodle Factory.

"We're part owners," Dat Phan explained.

Once they were all inside and the door secured, Deeks pulled his flashlight, highlighting the silent equipment and a metal staircase.

"The offices are upstairs," Dat Phan said as he led the way up to the mezzanine.

A walkway spanned the entire length of the wall, and Mrs. Phan had quickly unlocked the door to a fairly spacious office, the flashlight filling the space with a cold light. Farley collapsed onto a pale green, vinyl-covered couch and Mr. Montoya sank into one of the office chairs. Dat Phan moved confidently around the space, going to one of the long tables and opening a small refrigerator underneath, handing out bottled water and sweet tea. All of them were exhausted and Deeks wasn't sure what would have happened if the Phans hadn't invited them into this place.

"Thanks," Deeks said wearily as he accepted a bottle of mango tea, before sinking down to the floor, his back against a filing cabinet.

No one said anything, heavy breathing the only sound enabling him to locate each person in the dim light. Deeks saw Vega take a first aid kit from Dat Phan and go to Farley, who was now moaning softly, but he had no energy to help him or even ask how the man was. The pain in his leg was now pulsing and he briefly closed his eyes until he felt someone sit down next to him.

"Your wound is bleeding again," Nika said softly.

He detected a slight accent and wondered where she had come from, but he only grunted a response, still trying to catch his breath. His shoulder was throbbing where he'd been hit with the chain and he moved to try to get more comfortable, but no position seemed to ease the pain. He should be checking to see if their hiding place would be discovered, but he found he couldn't move and that scared him, his body feeling like lead and his mind slowly succumbing to fatigue.

"Take these," Nika said as she handed him two pills. "And don't ask what they are or where I got them. They'll help with the pain. Give you some energy too, but don't worry, they won't make you high or anything."

"Will I have to arrest you after this is over?" He asked, hesitating only briefly before he swallowed the pills.

"I'll disappear before you get the chance," her anger sudden and sharp, making him grab her arm as she started to get up.

"I'm kidding, Nika," he said, pulling her back down. "And thanks."

She nodded at him and pulled another scarf from her neck and began wrapping it around his bloody leg. This scarf was a dark khaki green, and he looked at her as she worked, wondering what her story was.

"What do you have against color?" He asked as he began to feel the effects of whatever she had given him.

"Not my style," she said as she tightened the scarf. "I'm a Goth."

"Where did you grow up?" He asked as he felt a subtle surge of energy and some of the pain start to dissipate.

"Ukraine," she said, sipping at her bottled water. "Will he be alright?"

"Who? Your boss?" He asked. "I'm surprised you care. You seem to stay away from him."

"He's a dirty old pig," she spit out. "Won't keep his hands to himself."

"Why do you stay?"

"Need the money, stupid," she smiled slowly, making him wonder if she hadn't taken a couple of pills herself.

He smiled back at her and edged himself up off the floor. He didn't feel high, but he did have a floating sensation as he limped out the door and made his way to the railing of the mezzanine, leaning heavily on it as he listened to the intermittent sounds of chaos outside. It was almost three in the morning and he probably wasn't the only one exhausted from the night of frenzy. Rioters had to sleep too. At least he hoped they did.

"How you holding up?" Vega asked as he gripped the railing next to him.

"Got some drugs I'm pretty sure are illegal from Nika," he said with a soft laugh. "Hope I don't have to take a drug test when I check in."

"You really think we'll make it to Martin Luther King Boulevard?"

"You know the precinct station?" Deeks asked.

"You actually surprised I've been arrested?"

"No, not really," he answered softly. "What happened? I mean, you were a medic."

"That last tour messed me up, amigo. Lost some good friends," he said as he lowered himself to the floor, dangling his legs over the side, and resting his arms on the center rail. "Got arrested a few times for bar fights and for not paying at a couple of restaurants. Dat Phan never let me pay at his place after he found out I'd been a soldier. Don't tell his wife. That woman is a holy terror."

"You live around here?" Deeks asked as he lowered himself down next to him, taking notice of the man's trembling hands.

"I live under the 110 Freeway," he said softly.

"You're homeless?" Deeks wasn't terribly surprised and suddenly felt sorry for the man.

"It's not that bad, man," Vega said. "But it's not a life you'd know anything about. I figure you had it pretty good growing up. Probably had loving, liberal parents, who preached about helping the poor, probably encouraged you to go into public service. All that do good shit. Am I right?"

Deeks didn't respond at first, laughing inwardly, burying his face in his crossed arms as he leaned over the middle railing. It always amazed him how people assumed things about you with nothing to go on but their own blind prejudices. He had heard the bitterness in Vega's words and voice and it suddenly made him angry.

"Fuck you, Vega," Deeks said wearily.

"Mommy and Daddy must be worried about their little boy," his taunting voice now venomous. "Out here on the mean streets of South Central trying to be a hero."

Deeks hit him square in the mouth and then got to his feet and walked to the head of the stairs and stopped, looking blankly down into the shadowy darkness below.

"You're a drunk at the tail end of a binge," Deeks said without emotion. "You're getting the shakes, maybe even seeing things that aren't there. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you on your feet. Add to that the fact that tonight you got a glimpse of yourself the way you used to be and it pissed you off, because you don't want to be reminded. You just want to blame everybody else, but yourself. You're an asshole, Vega. A good man, but still an asshole. You drink to forget, but that doesn't work does it? Nothing works and it never will unless you want to go back to being the man you used to be. You did good tonight. Hope you realize that."

"You read that crap in the police manual?" Vega said as he spit out some blood.

"They don't teach the shit I know," Deeks said, his voice now hard. "Get some help man, before you do something you'll regret. There's still good in you."

"You think you know me?" Vega growled.

"Yeah. I know you," Deeks answered as he started down the stairs. "You remind me of my father. The only difference is, you're a hell of a lot nicer and I actually like you."

...

...


	4. Chapter 4

**The Collector**

_Chapter 4_

...

His descent down the stairs had been quick, his anger and memories pushing him toward the dark recesses of the factory, needing the privacy only the shadows could provide. The pills Nika had given him had him feeling dazed and foggy and he cursed softly at himself for taking them. He felt a growing lack of control, and even though the pain had lessened, he should have known better, his partner's voice in the back of his mind, whispering, scolding his stupidity.

He'd done his share of drugs before he became a cop, not anything hard core or addictive, just the kind that softened the edges of a hard day when his mom had been ill, or when he'd finished a test in college he worried he had failed. He'd been alone then, alone and bothered by doubt, his father's words never far from his mind back then, the taunting tone of voice he had just heard in Vega's nasty rant. He was pissed the former medic's comments had gotten to him. He usually let that kind of stuff roll off of him, having learned very early that showing anger only brought more pain. He'd always been a smart ass, which had irritated his father, but the childish humor he'd used early in life worked more often than an angry retort, so he'd developed it and had been surprised that he'd let Vega's words cut so deeply. The comment about trying to be a hero had some ring of truth, and had been the reason he'd hit him…that, and the fact that the man's tone really had reminded him of his father. Vernon had cautioned him the first week they'd worked together not to be a hero, to just do his job, and not get himself killed. Now, Vernon was dead and he was alone again, longing for his council, and his calm assurance that he could get these people to safety.

The soft warmth of the darkness closed in around him as he leaned back against a long aluminum worktable. He wearily took off the heavy utility belt holding his gun, extra mags, handcuffs and his smashed radio, and tossed it on the adjacent table, sighing at the release from the added weight. He slowly slid down to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, letting out a long breath as he clasped his hands behind his head. He drifted, the drugs slowly easing the tension in his body, clouding his memories, pushing them back where he kept them hidden. He ceased to fight his fatigue, welcoming the calm as he succumbed to exhaustion, his eyes closing as his head drooped.

"Sleeping on the job?" Nika laughed softly, jarring him awake.

"No."

"Liar. I've been watching you for at least a half hour," she said as she moved closer.

"That's a little creepy," he mumbled as he pushed himself up. "What the hell were in those pills, anyway?"

"Who cares? They made you feel better, right?" She said quietly as she stepped even closer to him.

He could feel her tremble as she put her hand on his arm, a tentative smile spreading across her face. Realizing he could see her, even though the light was faint and barely reached them, he looked up at the office, slightly uneasy that they had turned a few lights on up there.

"They were scared of the dark," she whispered as she reached up and ran her cool fingers along his smooth jaw, her eyes teasing as her tongue licked her upper lip.

"And you're not scared?" Asking her gently as he stared into her dark eyes.

"Maybe a little," she said, looking away and betraying her fear.

"Is that why you're here?"

"I feel safe with you," she said. "I know you'll protect me."

"So it's not the dark you're scared of," He said, as he ran a thumb lightly across her cheek.

"Personally, I like the dark. No one can see what you do in the dark," she said as she slowly slipped off her tight-fitting, short black jacket.

The tiny black tank top underneath was sheer and cut off just below her breasts, and she wasn't wearing a bra. He swallowed hard as she leaned into him, the small skull tattoo on her right breast catching his attention.

"You are very sexy," her voice almost purring in that odd little accent. "And you have kind eyes. They are so blue."

"I'm on duty," he murmured thickly, already feeling himself harden as she moved her hip against him.

"No one will see," she whispered as she guided his hand to her breast.

She was exotic, her skin exceedingly pale against the black clothes she wore, and her musky perfume held a hint of roses that filled the enveloping darkness around them. He closed his eyes as she kissed him, her tongue moving delicately in his mouth and he gave into that old feeling of comfort he always experienced when he was with a woman. He needed that tonight. That feeling of control and the lack of it at the same time, the warmth of companionship and the sense that someone cared, if even for a brief moment in time. He lifted her up and sat her down on the surface of the worktable, his hands now moving up under her top, caressing the large rosy nipples on her small breasts. He took the one with the tattoo into his mouth, the taste of sweat mingling with the odd flavor of the fabric. She moaned and quivered, but then laughed softly and ran her hands through his hair, scratching her dark nails through the short hair at the base of his neck, slowly pulling him closer. Her legs wrapped around the back of his thighs as she arched her back over his arm, and he raised up, his eyes taking in the curve of her neck and the way she trembled as his hand trailed down her throat to caress her breast. He was breathing heavier now, his need growing as he held her, his mouth closing over the base of her neck as he slipped her top off one shoulder, exposing her white breast and hardening nipple in the soft shadowy light. She scooted up further on the table and turned sideways until she was laying full length on the top, her knees up, spreading them open, her short skirt riding high as she took his hand and guided it down her body.

"Touch me," she whispered.

He ran his hand slowly up her thigh, his fingers searching for the wetness he knew was waiting, licking his lips as he lifted her body, bringing her now naked breast to his mouth, suckling as his fingers moved inside her, excited by her soft, contented moans. He relaxed into a rhythm and she began to tremble as he brought her to the edge, her body finally bucking as she climaxed, her voice raspy as she spoke words in a language he didn't understand.

He had always loved having the power to give such deep pleasure to a woman, to watch her lose herself beneath his hands and his body. He never tired of it, finding a contentment that was otherwise missing from his solitary life. Women always came on to him and he loved flirting with them, giving them whatever they wanted without hesitation, finding his own joy in their need for him, giving him a sense of worth while fulfilling his own wants and pleasure without much effort. He was good at it too, his ego about his abilities knowing almost no bounds. This wasn't the first time he'd given in to a woman's demands while on the job, recalling the time Vernon had caught him at the hospital after they'd dropped off a suspect. A well-endowed nurse on a break had wasted no time in dragging him into an empty room, and luckily they were done when Vernon found them, although his pants were still around his ankles at the time. He had gotten hell for it and then the silent treatment from his partner for a couple of days, the tension only breaking when he accused the man of jealousy because he couldn't get laid. His memory of the look of disbelief on his partner's face, his sharp, laughing denials and their friendly banter afterwards making him laugh once again.

"What's funny?" Nika whispered as she turned toward him, her fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

"Marty?" Mrs. Montoya's called quietly from beyond the darkness.

Shit! He stepped in front of Nika to hide her, but she simply giggled and hopped off the table, unselfconsciously putting on her jacket and zipping it up. She brushed her hand across his cheek, letting her fingers linger briefly on his lips and smiled before turning and walking away with a light musical laugh.

"What can I do for you Mrs. Montoya?" He asked, slightly embarrassed as he walked out of the shadows.

"I'm guessing Vega isn't with you," she said quietly.

"No, ma'am. Why?"

"I think he's gone," she answered.

"Shit!"

He'd screwed up, almost laughing as the thought crossed his mind, knowing that was exactly what he was about to do with Nika. The familiar feeling of guilt rose up and he took a deep breath, knowing Vega's departure had weakened the group and made his job even harder and much more dangerous. He'd let his emotions get the better of him with Vega and it had cost him. It had cost all of them, the heavy weight of responsibility dropping down onto his shoulders once again. He turned back to retrieve his gun belt, his mind searching for what to do next. Should he stay here until morning or make a run for the station? Were they safe here? He wasn't sure and his uncertainty made him anxious and slightly scared. He wanted to kick his own ass for taking the drugs Nika had offered, leaving him feeling dull and one step too slow, which could get him and everyone else killed. It was a lesson he didn't want to learn the hard way. If one of these people were hurt because of his stupidity, he would never forgive himself.

"Do the others know?" He asked Mrs. Montoya as he headed for the stairs.

"Yes," she said, stopping him as he walked past. "They want to stay here, Marty."

He nodded and smiled softly at her, guiding her up the stairs. The others looked up at him expectantly as he entered the office, the fluorescent lights flickering, making him squint at their harshness after his time in the dark.

"Did anyone hear Vega leave?" He asked.

"There's a back door," Dat Phan explained. "I heard it open and close."

"I thought it was you," Farley said, his face hard and angry.

The others immediately protested his remark and that did a world of good for his ego, but he could feel the group beginning to pull away from each other, losing that connection that had helped them operate as a unit and it worried him.

"Anybody tried their phone lately?" He asked.

"Still nothing," Mrs. Phan replied. "Not even office phone is working."

The sound of gunshots from outside sent a wave of fear through the group and he quickly pulled his weapon.

"Turn off the overheads," he said. "All of you on the floor."

He moved out of the office, feeling his adrenaline begin to counteract the drugs in his system, but he still felt sluggish. There were no street level windows in the factory, so he couldn't see what was happening outside or how many people were involved, so he walked the perimeter, trying to insure there was no entrance that could be breached. He found the door Vega had used, it's lock still undone. He stepped hesitantly out the door onto a loading dock, moving silently to the far end. There was a hint of morning in the dull gray of the sky, lessening the feel of danger, but he knew that could be deceptive. If his uniform was spotted, he would attract attention and the people inside might come under fire and he couldn't expose them to that possibility. The crazy idea that entered his brain made him shake his head, but it was all he could come up with as he hurried back inside.

"Oh buddy. You are flying by the seat of your pants now," he whispered to himself as he locked the door behind him.

The others looked nervous when he came back in the office, and he could see they were exhausted as well, the brief rest not long enough to overcome the fear they all were feeling.

"Do the workers here keep lockers, Mr. Phan?" Waiting until he nodded yes before he took off his belt and badge and started to unbutton his shirt. "I need to borrow some clothes. Shoes too."

"Why?" Luis Montoya asked.

"I need to see what's going on out there without drawing too much attention," he answered as he took off his shirt, leaving him in a white tee shirt, streaked with sweat and spotted with blood and soot. "I can't do that dressed as a cop."

"You're leaving us?" Kamar asked in a tiny voice.

"Running out on us is more likely," Farley spit out with obvious distrust.

"I need to scout out the route to the station," he said calmly. "It'll be getting light soon. I can't risk taking you out there if I don't know what we'll be facing."

Keshawn stared at him and then nodded, understanding in his eyes as he took off his khaki jacket and handed it over to him.

"Thanks, brother," he said, hastily putting it on. "Now...think one of the workers left some running shoes that'll fit me?"

"What size?" Mrs. Phan asked with the first smile he had seen from her.

When she left to find him some shoes, the others started making suggestions about his outfit. Nika shyly tugged his T-shirt out, her hand lingering on his chest. He kept his pants since unwrapping the makeshift bandage around his leg wasn't something he wanted to do, nor did taking off his pants in front of everyone. Mrs. Phan came back carrying three different pairs of athletic shoes and a worn and faded blue baseball cap sporting a Dodgers' logo.

"The Dodgers? Really? I hate the Dodgers," he said with an exaggerated grimace.

"Shame on you," Luis Montoya said lightly. "I thought you grew up here."

"Yeah, but come on. They're a group of obnoxious over paid prima donnas." Deeks said, looking around the room for supporters.

A heated discussion about baseball broke out and he smiled as his intended effect eased some of the anxiety everyone was feeling. Nothing like sports to take your mind off the real world. He let their voices wash over him as he slipped into a pair of black Reeboks, finally standing; doing a three sixty turn for their inspection. He now looked like anyone else he might meet on the street and he shoved his gun into his pants behind his back, covering it with the jacket. He put an extra clip of ammo in his back pocket, along with his badge and looked up into the faces of the group, seeing shades of doubt and hope, worry and uncertainty.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. "Then we'll get out of here."

"Please be careful, Marty," Mrs. Montoya pleaded as she patted his arm.

The others murmured quiet encouragement, except for Farley and he nodded solemnly at all of them and headed for the stairs. Keshawn followed him and let him out the back door, slapping him on the butt like a true football player, smiling shyly at him before closing and locking the door behind him. Once outside, Deeks paused to take in his surroundings, noting the location of the echoing gunshots, now concentrated far to his left. The early hint of daylight allowed him to see that most of the streets were deserted, so he made his way quickly up the long block toward his objective, pulling the ball cap down low over his eyes. The muted sounds of sirens in the distance gave him some hope and he moved quickly along the littered street, ducking into alleys whenever he saw straggling groups of looters.

He had lived on the streets for short periods of time, and his many explorations with his childhood friend Ray made him aware of the hidden dangers even supposedly empty streets held. The two of them had been rebellious teens and had taken to the streets when things got tough at home, pretending to be hard asses whenever they were confronted by the gangs in their neighborhood, fighting their way out if things didn't go their way, or his jokes didn't work. They had suffered a few beatings, some worse than others, but had laughed at their tormentors, their dads having done much greater damage, teaching them early on how to take a punch. Ray never went unarmed, but he didn't have the stomach to actually shoot anyone, but the threat was enough and had gotten them out of a couple of bad situations. He suddenly was sorry he'd lost touch with him after high school, and felt the draw of nostalgia for his old friend, longing to have a beer with him and tell him about his shitty day and about having to kill two men. He didn't think Ray would even believe he was a cop, let alone believe he had killed someone, even though he knew he had shot his own father. He missed Ray. He missed kicking back with him and telling stories, but most of all he missed their easygoing friendship, that deep connection they had, based on the shared pain of their similar childhoods. He closed his eyes as the memories swirled, leaning his head against the rough texture of the alley wall.

He was shocked back to reality when a door next to him slammed open and two men smelling heavily of alcohol stumbled out. One carried a six-pack of beer and the other a baseball bat.

"Look, Frankie. We found ourselves a little chicken shit," the hefty man with the bat said. "Hiding out asshole?"

"No, just taking a breather from dumb fucks like you," Deeks felt himself straying from his training, pissed off and using names for suspects they frowned on at the academy.

"Did he just call us fuckers, O-Dog?"

"Dumb too," answered the large, rough looking man as he brought the bat up.

"O-Dog? Seriously? You steal that name from some rapper?" Deeks taunted, unable to help himself.

"The 'O' stands for ornery," the man answered, swishing the bat back and forth.

"Back off," Deeks warned as he pulled his weapon. "And if you raise that bat any higher, I'll take out your knee cap."

"You got no respect man," Frankie shouted as he advanced.

"Listen, shit face. I'm tired and pissed off and I'm asking you to leave before I do something that ruins any prospect you might have with the ladies," Deeks said calmly as he aimed the gun at the man's groin.

"That's cold, dude," O-Dog said as he lowered the bat.

"Take the hint, Dog, and leave me alone," he warned, his voice low and menacing.

"Stay cool, man," Frankie said with a nervous grin. "You look like you had a bad night."

"You have no idea," he growled.

"Come on. Have a beer, man," Frankie offered, "We're just out havin' a little fun. You wouldn't shoot a man for that, would you?"

"Don't test me," Deeks felt himself losing control, as the men stared nervously at him.

He felt a coldness growing inside, as if he wasn't himself and the men must have realized he wasn't someone they should mess with right then and began to back away, their arms spread in surrender before they turned and hurried down the alley. He let out a huff of air, his mind engulfed in a familiar darkness full of shadows from his past. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and down his jaw, searching for himself in the hollow emptiness he was feeling. A sudden siren and the flashing lights of a patrol car crossing the street up ahead helped to clear his growing uneasiness and he shakily placed the gun behind his back and moved out onto the street. He figured he was just a few blocks from the station and he began to jog toward it, needing to find help, and to get back to the people who were counting on him.

He was breathing hard and limping heavily when he reached the first barricade, smiling at the cop who held up his hand and told him to stop. The others had their hands on their weapons and he realized what he must look like and spread his arms wide.

"I'm a cop," he informed them. "Officer Marty Deeks."

He gave his badge number and precinct as a couple of officers walked toward him. They ordered him to put his hands behind his head and took his weapon, finally relaxing when they found his badge. As he was walked inside the perimeter, he tried to tell them about the group, but they kept passing him on to someone else, until he was exasperated.

"Deeks?"

He turned at the sound of his name, relieved to see someone he knew.

"We thought you were dead," Sergeant Chavez said and then hesitated. "So it was Vernon's body in the car?"

"Yeah."

One word was all he could manage at that moment as he stumbled slightly from fatigue and sudden remembered sorrow, the wound in his leg flaring with pain after his run through the streets. Chavez grabbed his arm, holding him steady before looking him over with wide eyes.

"Where the hell's your uniform?" He asked.

"It's a long story, sir," he answered, dragging the ball cap off his head.

"You look like shit," the sergeant said softly. "Come on. They're gonna want to talk to you."

"I've got a group of people waiting to be rescued, sir," he said. "Nine of them. Eight now, I guess. I need a vehicle to get them out. A couple are wounded."

"Okay, son," Chavez said calmly. "We'll get 'em. Don't worry."

The older officer held onto his arm as he guided him through the throng of police into the precinct until he was standing in front of a table in the center of the command center. High-ranking officers were issuing orders and there was a flurry of activity and a sense of urgency, mirroring his own. He stood waiting until Chavez brought over a man with slicked back, graying hair and a long nose, obviously overworked and not looking very friendly.

"This is Lieutenant Bates," Chavez told him.

"You were reported dead, Officer Deeks," the man said sharply as if he was sorry to find he wasn't.

"Didn't mean to disappoint you, sir," he said wearily.

"Don't be a wise ass, Deeks," he said. "Sorry about your partner."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Deeks replied. "I need a vehicle, sir. I've got eight people hold up in a noodle factory in the middle of South Central. They're tired and very scared and I promised I'd get them out."

"Did you just say a noodle factory?" Bates asked suspiciously. "You on something officer or are you just trying to be funny?"

"Do I look like I'm laughing, sir?" Deeks felt very close to collapse and he was angry at the distrust. "Even I couldn't have made up the Mei Mei Noodle Factory. But, now that I think about it, it does sound kinda funny."

"Maybe he ran out on his partner and this is his cover story," a detective said derisively from the group surrounding them.

Deeks blinked hard, stunned at the harsh accusation, a sudden rush of anger overwhelming him as he charged the man, grabbing his suit jacket in both fists as he shoved him hard into the wall. He could feel hands clawing and pulling at him, but he heard no sound, not even his own screamed curses, his mind filled with exploding images and the sound of the roaring flames that had consumed his partner and his friend.

"Officer Deeks. Stand down! Now!" Bates roared in his ear.

He finally heard him, and struggled out of the grasp of the officers and detectives holding him, waiting to be reprimanded and possibly charged for attacking a superior officer. The adrenaline was suddenly gone, and he fought to keep standing, unwilling to show weakness in front of these men.

"Take a hike, detective," Bates said without even turning to look at the fuming officer.

"He attacked me, Lieutenant," the man shouted.

"You deserved it. Now shut up and go do something useful," Bates ordered. "Sergeant Chavez, get Officer Deeks a chair before he falls down."

"Tell Chavez where this noodle factory is kid, and he'll go get your people," Bates said as Deeks collapsed onto the chair. "Now. Care to explain why you aren't wearing your uniform and have a purple and green scarf tied around your leg?"

"Just stylin', sir," he said without thinking, a crooked grin lighting up his dirty face.

"It just comes naturally to you, doesn't it, kid?" Bates said, slowly shaking his head.

"I need to go with Chavez, sir," Deeks said as he stood up to face the man. "I told those people I'd come back for them."

"Did you shoot those two men found next to your burned out patrol car?" Bates asked.

"Yes sir."

"Then I'll need your gun," Bates said softly. "They'll be an investigation, so you'll need your rep. You know the procedure."

"Understood, sir," Deeks sank back into the chair, his energy gone, his duty finished.

"Sergeant Chavez, put Officer Deeks in one of the police vans and take him to the hospital after you pick up the people at the noodle factory," Bates ordered.

"Lieutenant?" Deeks wasn't sure he'd heard right until Chavez started to help him up.

"Part of procedure in an officer-involved shooting is to assess the officer's injuries," Bates said. "Now, move it Deeks, you're keeping those people waiting."

"Yes sir," Deeks grinned. "I won't forget this."

"Neither will I, kid."

...

...


	5. Chapter 5

**The Collector**

_Chapter 5_

...

Hetty closed the lid on her laptop, and sank back into the warmth of the cushions, letting her eyes roam across the garden in the smoky grayness of the early morning. She had been up before dawn, working through her messages from Washington when she decided that the fresh, somewhat warm air outside would be a welcomed change from the icy weather she'd been living with on the East Coast. The olive trees that surrounded her infused the air with an earthy smell that relaxed her and she always had a few of them planted in all of her gardens. She loved the ancient trees, the soothing silver gray color of their leaves and their gnarled trunks oddly comforting.

She owned three houses in Los Angeles, never staying in one for very long even on the same trip and she already had her eye on another. She was always careful, having only made the mistake once of being too regular in her habits. That had happened early in her career when she was a novice of sorts and it had almost cost her her life. Her handler had been furious with her and had kept her desk bound for a month after she got out of the hospital, the added benefit being that she discovered she didn't like being stuck behind a desk. That was a very long time ago and she sighed at the prospect of having to return to one in the near future. She would have her pick of the place that desk would be, although the weather here certainly put it close to the top of the list, but she hadn't made up her mind just yet, and wasn't particularly ready. She'd been offered Paris by the NSA, and even though she loved that incredible city and never tired of spending time there, being on American soil and protecting it was something she felt very strongly about.

The musical alert from her laptop drew her back and she raised the lid, revealing the charming face of Eric Beale. He always seemed so cheerful and decidedly unable to mask his feelings, so she knew he had good news.

"He's still alive, Hetty," Eric said. "He walked into the command post in South Central just before dawn this morning."

"What else can you tell me, Mr. Beale?"

"I'm not going to get into trouble for this, am I Hetty?"

"The only person you need to worry about being in trouble with is me," she said, smiling at his nervousness. "As long as no one knows what you're up to, I'm certainly not going to turn you in to the LAPD for hacking them. They have enough to worry about at the moment."

"Officer Deeks is going to be placed on administrative leave pending an investigation into the shooting deaths of two men found near his burned out patrol car," Eric reported. "Apparently he was wounded along the way and is being taken to the hospital."

"Who's the field commander down there, Mr. Beale?"

"Lots of brass around, but the guy running the show is Lieutenant Roger Bates," Eric replied. "Hold on Hetty, my friend is calling with new information."

She felt edgy and wasn't sure why, but she never discounted her instincts and they were telling her something was off. Her patience was unraveling the longer she waited, so she sent a quick email to a friend in Washington asking for information on Lieutenant Bates, the name sounding familiar to her.

"Hetty? Deeks saved nine people in the middle of the riot," Eric said enthusiastically.

"And the bad news, Mr. Beale?"

"How did you know there was bad news?" Eric's face fell as she stared at him. "Never mind. You just know. Somehow. Okay. They didn't find any weapons on the two dead guys Deeks shot. That's not good, is it?"

"No, Mr. Beale, it certainly is not," she replied.

"What now Hetty?" He asked softly. "Were you wrong about him? I know you're never wrong, but are you?"

"We'll see, Eric," she answered, carefully hiding her disappointment from the earnest young man.

She truly wished she had feet on the ground to pursue this, but she would have to rely on Mr. Beale and quite possibly Lieutenant Bates to sort things out. She hadn't lost hope, recalling her first impression of the young cop. He had stared down a group of rioters with a single baton and a cheeky sense of humor, so she was finding it hard to reconcile the latest information with that young man shown on the news. Riots were messy affairs and anyone could have picked up the weapons, but that had to be proved or her newest person of interest would be discredited, indicted and sentenced to a life she didn't want to contemplate.

"Mr. Beale, I think Officer Deeks is going to need our help," she said quietly. "If you are able, find me any footage from traffic and security cameras in the area of the shooting. I don't trust that the LAPD will have the time or the inclination to give our Mr. Deeks the benefit of the doubt or want to spend their limited resources on a rookie while the city is in the middle of an ongoing riot. They might find it easier and better for public relations to throw him to the wolves. He probably doesn't have a lot of friends on the force, let alone in the upper echelons of power in the LAPD."

"I'm on it, Hetty," Eric said with a frown. "Too bad he doesn't know he has you on his side."

"That's for the best, Mr. Beale," she said softly. "Sometimes you get more accomplished in the shadows."

"I'll keep you posted."

Hetty rose and began to walk the paths of the garden, her mind culling back through all the information she had been given on the young cop. She was usually a very dispassionate person when going through intelligence reports, but in this case, and with this man, she had experienced a range of emotions that had surprised her. Not since Mr. Callen had she felt so drawn to someone. There were similarities in their fight through life. Both had suffered quite young from the hand of violence, Callen from strangers, but Deeks from his own flesh and blood. Callen had run, but Marty Deeks never had. He had stayed and fought back, trying to end the cycle of violence by using it against the man who should have loved him. Where had that strength come from? Had it come from the very man who had abused him? Was it anger? Was it love for his mother? Whatever it was, he had found his breaking point, but responded with determination and finally rebellion when he'd reached it, standing up against a violent man he surely must have feared. He was eleven years old.

She had seen the photos of what his father had done to him before that fateful bullet was fired. She had looked at the crime scene photos, and seen the battered face of his mother, her features altered, but so much like her son. Police reports are usually quite stark, simple facts and information needed to make a case, but this one hinted at the emotions felt by the officer who wrote it. She sensed the anger hidden behind the adjectives usually missing from reports such as these, so she knew the scene had touched the officers responding to the call.

At eleven years old, he had stopped a man who'd towered over him and his mother with a shotgun. He had stood up to the man he feared most in the world, facing his own possible death with courage and had shot him. Had he felt something similar when he shot those men last night? Had he seen the same look in their eyes as he had in his father's? He must have learned early on to read the signs. He had experience with the edge dangerous men walk and if he had seen those two men cross over that line he would not have run, but acted. That was the kind of man he was and had been since he was eleven.

"You are not alone, Mr. Deeks," she whispered as she sat down once again at her laptop.

...

He had only rested his head against the window for a brief moment, unable to ignore the exhaustion any longer. Trying to total up the number of hours he'd been awake had been a joke, his mind too fuzzy to even count, so he gave up and simply let the blur of the passing buildings lull him. He might have heard the door to the van open and then close, but it didn't register enough to wake him, although he hadn't intended to sleep. It was the shouting that finally caused him to bolt awake, looking anxiously around to find the source, suddenly right back on the dark streets chaotic with rioters, highlighted by flames and screaming taunts and threats. He vigorously ruffled his hair and rubbed his hands down over his eyes and face, shaking his head to try and sharpen his mind and bring himself back to the present. He was alone in the van, but the shouting continued and he felt a surge of energy when he realized where he was, slamming out of the van into a tense situation, punctuated by flashing red and blue lights and three police officers with their guns pointed at the half opened roll-up door of the Mei Mei Noodle Factory.

"Put down the gun!" Sergeant Chavez and the other cops were shouting, their weapons pointed at the man by the door.

Vega was leaning against the side of the wall, the .38 revolver gripped tightly in both hands, and Deeks was thankful it was pointed down or the man would already be dead.

"Don't shoot," Deeks yelled as he moved past the officers and walked toward the former medic. "Don't shoot."

"What the hell are you doing Deeks?" Chavez shouted.

"He's a former medic," he said quietly. "He helped me last night. He's not going to shoot anybody. Are you Vega? Glad you're back man, but you have to give me the gun, okay?"

"Farley said you ran out on 'em," Vega said, his hands visibly shaking.

"And you believed that guy?" Deeks said softly with a crooked grin. "Come on, dude. You know he's a dick. I went to get help. See? Lots of good guys to help everyone get out of here. All you have to do is put down the gun and Mr. Montoya can go to the hospital. You know he's in shock and lost a lot of blood."

"You have too," Vega said as he looked critically at Deeks. "You look like shit in the light, man."

"Thanks a lot, asshole," he said with a grin as he reached out his hand. "Give me the gun, buddy. I'm tired and so are you and the others."

"When I came back there were a couple of gang-bangers trying to get in," Vega said as he loosened his grip on the gun, allowing Deeks to take it. "I fired in the air and they ran off. I couldn't shoot 'em, man. I couldn't shoot 'em."

"That's good. I'm glad you didn't," Deeks said as he handed the weapon to one of the officers.

"Sorry," Vega whispered as he fell back against the wall of the factory. "I shouldn't have left."

"Is everybody okay?" Deeks asked as the cops pushed up the roll-up door.

"Still scared," he answered. "They're all worried about you."

"Do I need to arrest this guy, Deeks?" Chavez asked as he holstered his weapon.

"Nah. It was a rough night, Sarge," Deeks said as he entered the still dark factory. "Wouldn't have gotten this far without him."

He looked up the long metal staircase to see Keshawn standing in the door of the office, a wide smile spreading across his face when he saw him. He heard him tell the others he was back and they all flooded out and headed down the stairs, Mrs. Phan in the lead. She surprised him with a hug at the bottom and then began to berate Sergeant Chavez for taking so long to get here. They all surrounded him, Nika running a hand down his back, while Keshawn spoke softly to his brother, who shyly put his hand out to shake his hand and say thank you. They all looked slightly stunned as if just waking from a bad dream, which in retrospect is what it seemed like in the soft light of morning, but most were smiling except for Farley who demanded to be taken to the hospital. Mrs. Montoya handed Deeks his neatly folded uniform and Dat Phan placed his shoes on top, and handed over his utility belt, nodding at him with relief.

"Are you alright, Marty?" Mrs. Montoya asked, gently squeezing his arm.

Deeks nodded with a shy, embarrassed grin, surprised by the comfort he felt at her concern.

"You're all going to the hospital to get checked out along with Officer Deeks," Sergeant Chavez announced. "We have a van outside for you."

"Do you know if my store is still standing, officer?" Luis Montoya asked, quickly giving him the address.

Chavez looked at one of the other cops and the man sadly shook his head.

"Sorry, sir," the cop said. "When we responded to the 'officer down' call, your store was fully involved. I'm afraid there's not much left."

At that, whatever joy they had felt disappeared and the group sadly trudged out into the morning and quietly started to get in the van. Deeks was led to the police car and Vega stopped, as did Mrs. Phan and the Montoyas.

"Can't he ride with us?" Vega asked.

"I'm afraid you'll be parting ways here," the sergeant told them. "Deeks is being processed in an officer involved shooting. We'll be needing statements from all of you."

"Is he in trouble?" Vega asked.

"I'll be fine, man," Deeks said. "Thanks for watching my back last night."

The arrival of an unmarked squad car had Sergeant Chavez shooting a warning look at Deeks, who felt a wave of nausea and a sense of unease. The two men who got out of the car were from internal affairs and not any low level detectives either.

"Lieutenant Becker, IA," the stocky man announced, all business and looking slightly pissed to be here. "Told there was an Officer Martin Deeks here."

"What's going on, Lieutenant? " Chavez asked, stepping in front of Deeks. "I have orders from Lieutenant Bates to take Deeks to the hospital. He was injured last night."

"He's my headache now, Sergeant," the man said. "This him?"

"I'm Officer Deeks," stepping up next to Chavez, who seemed reluctant to turn him over.

"Thought you were a rookie on street patrol," Becker said as he looked him up and down and then waved impatiently for the file the detective with him was holding. "Where the hell's your uniform?"

"Long story, sir," Deeks answered as he lifted up his folded uniform.

"I'll bet," Becker snapped. "And your hat?"

"Rioter stole it during a scuffle, sir," Deeks said.

"You got all kinds of excuses don't you?" Becker said, shaking his head. "Put him in the car, Sergeant Pike."

"Does Bates know about this?" Chavez asked.

"This has gone way over Lieutenant Bates' head," Becker said as he grabbed Deeks' arm and pushed him toward his partner. "Now, it's none of his business or yours, Sergeant."

"Call your rep, Deeks," Chavez said.

"He's probably gonna need more than a rep," Becker said. "He better start looking for a lawyer."

"I am a lawyer," Deeks said quietly, causing all of them to turn and stare at him, including the group of people he'd helped, most of whom had exited the van to watch what was happening.

"You're just full of surprises, Deeks," Becker laughed. "Just so you know, I hate lawyers, so you'll get no special treatment from me."

"Not surprised," Deeks said softly. "I'm not asking for anything except due process."

"You're not makin' any friends here," Becker said.

"Wasn't trying to. Just wanted you to understand that I know my rights," Deeks kept his voice even, which wasn't difficult since he was totally exhausted.

"He saved our lives," Mrs. Montoya said, the others agreeing, their faces worried as they all started talking at once, describing their long ordeal.

"Unless you witnessed the shooting, I don't want to hear it," Becker said and turned away. "Get in the car Deeks. Now."

Deeks took one last look at the small group he had worked so hard to protect, knowing he probably would never see any of them ever again. He was okay with that, except maybe for Nika and the Montoyas. He had done his job and a little more, relieved that they were all safe, but realizing that somehow he had come to care about them, even Farley, who sat in the open doorway of the van looking confused, while the others just looked angry and sad.

"Hang in there, Deeks," Vega called out to him as he sat down in the back of the squad car.

"I'll look into USC, man," Keshawn shouted as the car started to pull away.

When they were out of site, all of his energy drained away and he leaned his head back against the seat, Becker's running commentary nothing but an unintelligible drone that held no interest, even if he had been sharp enough to take it in. There was something just out of his mental grasp he knew was important, but the fatigue was winning and he let himself drift slowly toward sleep.

...

The muted sound of someone calling his name seemed to come from far away and roused him only briefly. It was the rough shaking that finally got his attention and dragged him out of a sluggish sleep.

"Out of the car, Sleeping Beauty," the unfamiliar voice growled.

"Too tired," he mumbled, pulling away from the insistent voices and grasping hands.

"Officer Deeks, move it. Now!"

Deeks cocked one eye open and saw the angry face of his least favorite IA lieutenant. The other one, whose name he had forgotten, yanked on his arm and he groaned as he tumbled out of the back of the car and stood unsteadily to his feet.

"Where are we?" He asked, blinking slowly as he surveyed the dreary parking garage.

"Division headquarters," Lieutenant Becker answered as he pushed him toward an elevator.

"Did I sleep through the visit to the hospital?" Deeks mumbled as he tried to wake up. "Nope. Still wearing Nika's purple scarf. What's up, Becker? This isn't procedure."

"The Commander wants to see you," the man said gruffly.

"Why?"

"Cause he's pissed," Becker said as he shoved him into the elevator. "So I suggest we don't keep him waiting."

Deeks slumped against the cold metal of the elevator wall, irritated by the obnoxiously mundane music serenading their ride up to the top floor. Now that he was somewhat awake, he was beginning to feel every bruise, cut and sore rib, while the pieces of glass still in his thigh were beginning to send shooting pains up and down his leg. The wound had been bleeding again since his run for help. He was thirsty and hungry and starting to get a little pissed himself. Procedure required he get medical attention for any injuries, so he knew things weren't going according to the book and that worried him. Something was very wrong and he was in the middle of it, but his mind was so muddled that he couldn't seem to grasp any solid facts or what he should do about his situation.

The ding of the elevator bell announced their arrival and Becker and the other guy each took an arm and walked him out into the brightly lit office of the Commanding Officer of the 77th Street Division. Staffers and a few cops stopped to stare at him as he limped between the two IA detectives, his head finally dropping limply toward his chest as they waited to be ushered into the commander's inner sanctum. He wanted very badly to lie down, feeling almost completely numb and he struggled to remain on his feet. Collapsing at the feet of Commander Paulson probably wouldn't make a very good first impression, but he was starting to believe it was a distinct possibility.

"Can I get something to drink?" He asked weakly. "A coffee maybe?"

"Does this look like a restaurant to you?" Becker huffed out.

"I've been on my feet for almost twenty four hours, Lieutenant," he practically pleaded. "The only thing I've had to eat or drink in the past fourteen was a bottle of mango tea."

The man looked at him with what passed for a semblance of sympathy, but before he could respond, the door to the commander's office swung open and they were waved inside by someone in a captain's uniform elaborately decorated with medals. He wasn't introduced, but the man gave him a friendly nod as he limped heavily past him to face the man behind the desk.

"This him?" Commander Paulson asked, staring stony eyed at him as Becker practically saluted with a hearty 'yessir'. "Did you take him home and let him change, Lieutenant?"

"No sir. We found him this way," Becker reported.

"Why are you out of uniform, Officer Deeks?" The commander demanded sharply.

Deeks was so tired of being asked that question without being able to explain that he couldn't even formulate a response and simply stared at the man, unsure if he really wanted an answer. He was actually afraid of what might come out of his mouth, so he hesitated long enough to see that the commander was starting to get red in the face.

"Are you refusing to answer my question, Officer Deeks?"

"No sir, but that can't be the only reason I'm here," he said wearily.

"Maybe you should let him sit down, Bob," a voice behind him suggested softly. "He looks dead on his feet."

The commander nodded and Becker and the other guy allowed him to settle down into a soft and very welcomed chair.

"Thank you, sir," he managed to say.

"Get him some water, Becker," the voice ordered.

"We need some answers here, Captain Reyes," the commander grumbled.

"You should have followed procedure, Bob" the man replied as Becker handed Deeks a glass of water.

The two men began to argue as Deeks savored every last drop of water. He had no idea who Reyes was, but he liked the man and appreciated his kindness. When the argument paused, Commander Paulson turned back to him, his face hard and his jaw clinched.

"You shot two unarmed men, Officer Deeks, and people are calling for your head," he said coldly. "We are in the middle of a damn riot and you are just one more big headache I don't need. What the hell were you thinking?"

Deeks was shocked by his words, knowing that this was what he had missed. He struggled to his feet and stood unsteadily in front of the man's desk, his anger suddenly overwhelming at the unfounded accusation.

"I saw my partner shot point blank in the face," his voice wavering with emotion. "The coward was gone when I got outside. When I reached Vernon, his face was gone, Commander. Just gone. His blood was all over my hands. They threw firebombs...I don't remember how many...and then the car exploded and I was blown back against the wall of the store."

"Take a breath, son," Captain Reyes urged.

"No. He just accused me of murder," Deeks said loudly. "I was sitting on the sidewalk when those two men came at me. The sonsofbitches were laughing. And they were armed, sir...45s I think. When they raised them I fired. They were armed, sir. I am not a murderer."

"No weapons were found with the bodies," Becker said. "You sure you weren't just getting revenge for the death of your partner?"

"You didn't exactly stick around for a response to your 'officer down' call," Commander Paulson spit out. "Where'd you go? Why didn't you wait so you could report?"

"Seriously? They firebombed the car. Have you even been outside?" He asked in amazement.

"You are real close to insubordination, Officer Deeks," Commander Paulson snapped.

"Yeah. That's so much worse than murder," Deeks sniped, his strength waning.

"Watch the attitude, Deeks," Becker growled.

"The higher ups want to make an example of you, Deeks," Commander Paulson said. "This riot started because we let four of our cops walk and if we let you go too...well you can see how that might look to the general public."

"So you're not interested in the truth?" Deeks asked. "Is that what you brought me here to tell me? That I'm finished no matter what I say? You think those guys were upstanding citizens that I just decided to blow away on a whim? They were gang members. They killed my partner and were going to kill me. That's the truth, sir, whether you want to believe it or not."

"We've got an investigation to complete," Becker said. "We still have a lot of unanswered questions for you."

"I want my union representative before I say another word," Deeks whispered, reaching down to steady himself on the commander's desk.

"I'll make sure you have one," Captain Reyes said. "Better call a good lawyer too, son."

"He is a lawyer," Becker informed them.

Deeks would have smiled at the look on the commander's face if he weren't finding it very difficult to remain standing. The edges of his vision were turning gray as he fought a wave of nausea. He was surprised when the other IA detective took his arm and tried to support him as his knees weakened and he began to sway.

"I think I need to get the glass out of my leg," he whispered, not even sure he was speaking loud enough to be heard. "I can't feel anything below my knee."

The last sentence was merely mumbled words as he slowly crumpled to the floor.

...

...


	6. Chapter 6

**The Collector**

_Chapter 6_

...

He woke when he felt increasingly uncomfortable pressure on his arm and struggled to open his eyes, which seemed unwilling to cooperate. Someone was touching him, kind hands moving over his arm and then down his leg, and he was pleased to discover he was lying down, which felt nice and he let himself drift. A flash of pain up his thigh made him hiss and a soft voice apologized, but the hands remained on his leg. A demanding voice caused him to attempt once again to open his eyes, and the prick of a needle definitely got his attention, and even though he resisted, strong firm hands held him down, the voice calm and reassuring. The angry voice sounded familiar, but the need for sleep was too great, so he decided to ignore what was happening and give in to the draining fatigue. He felt himself being lifted and floating, a sudden bump jarring him, then the sound of closing doors and the sensation of smooth movement.

"Where are we going?" He asked with his eyes still closed.

"So you are awake," a hint of laughter in the kind voice. "You're heading to the hospital. I'm pumping some fluids into you, so you should be feeling better real soon."

"Thanks," he whispered. "I'm really tired."

He woke again when he felt cool air on his legs as his pants were pulled off. That confused him so he opened his eyes. The dark haired woman standing over him was pretty, but he didn't know her. He was about to ask her name when he cried out at the sudden slice of pain shooting through his thigh, making him jerk forcefully back and curse. He began to pant as he fought to control the shivering that followed. His vision dimmed as he struggled against the people holding him down, but it was the soft voice of the woman that made him stop.

"We're trying to help you, but you have to stop fighting us, okay?" She said calmly. "Can you do that for me?"

"Okay," he answered, finally taking a look at his surroundings.

Three people were working on him and he looked up to see he was attached to an IV, and had a liter of blood hanging over him, the slick, dark color making him nauseous. He saw a nurse toss his soiled tee shirt along with his bloody pants and Nika's scarves into the garbage, and he raised his head to look down at his leg. He could feel the heat surrounded the wounds, the punctures pulsing and the skin stretched tight. A young male intern stepped up and blocked his view, gently cleaning the grime from his face and chest, causing the small cuts to sting at first, but the warm water slowly calmed him, feeling good on his skin.

"I'm going to give you something for the pain, so just hang in there with me, okay?" The woman doctor said as she patted him on the arm. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Officer Marty Deeks, LAPD."

"That's very formal. Can I call you Marty?" She smiled at him and he nodded as she ran her hands over his body. "We'll need x-rays on his ribs."

"Your hands are cold," he said, smiling at her.

"Not a very good pick-up line, Marty," she laughed.

"Bet you have a warm heart though," he said softly.

"That's actually pathetic," she said. "We're going to roll you on your side, okay? I need to get a better look at that dark bruise over your shoulder."

He almost bit through his lip as the pressure on his ribs increased. He relaxed a little as her cool hands brushed over the tender area of his back, but the fight in the alley flooded back into his mind and his muscles rippled in response.

"That's a long, deep bruise you've got there," she said quietly. "What caused it?"

"A heavy chain."

"I'm sorry," she said as she gently helped him lie back. "Sounds like you were in the thick of things out there, officer."

"Yeah."

"I'm Doctor Rainey," she said. "We're going to help you feel better, Marty."

"First name?" Unable to keep a wide smile from his face.

"Pain meds are working I see," she laughed. "I'm Sara. Now that you're more comfortable, I'm going to take a look at those pieces of glass in your leg, okay?"

"Thanks," surprised as his eyes filled with tears.

"You okay, Marty?" The doctor asked.

"Bad memories," he answered, his mind filling with a haunting vision of Vernon's bloody face.

He quickly closed his eyes and felt the warm tears overflow and he was embarrassed that he couldn't stop them. He could feel the doctor's hands on his leg and hear her talking to someone else, but he was lost in his memories and his mind started to shut down. He heard her call his name, but he didn't want to answer. He just wanted to sleep and leave the painful memory behind, but she was insistent and he opened his eyes once again.

"When were you injured, Marty?"

"What time is it?"

"Eleven in the morning," she answered with a frown.

"Car exploded about twelve hours ago, I think...can't remember...maybe longer," he mumbled. "Vernon's been dead for twelve hours. He shouldn't be dead."

"Did you hit your head?" Her voice was kind and he would have closed his eyes again, but she held each one open and shined a light in them, causing him to recoil at the sudden pain. "He's got a mild concussion, and let's get some antibiotics into his IV. Those shards of glass in his leg and all these other cuts have gone untreated too long. Probably infected. Anybody get a temp yet? He feels warm."

"I'm sleepy," he whispered.

"We're going to clean you up Marty, and send you up to surgery," Dr. Rainey said a little loudly as if he couldn't hear, but maybe that was because he had closed his eyes again and wasn't responding to her questions. The voices faded and the pain eased away and he welcomed the comforting darkness.

...

"You want to wake up for me, sweetie?"

The words registered, but he felt sluggish and a little grumpy, wanting to continue sleeping. He ignored the woman's cheery voice, but he was curious as to who would be trying to wake him, so he took a peek, squinting at the bright lights above him.

"There you are."

"Where am I?" He asked, his head swimming with confusing thoughts.

"You're in Good Samaritan Hospital, sweetie," a smiling, redheaded nurse told him as she fussed over his IV and tucked the warm blankets tightly around his legs.

"What happened to me?"

"Not sure, but you look like you were in a fight," she said. "You're in your room now. You had surgery on your leg to remove some pieces of glass. You've got an infection going, so they've got you on some pretty heavy antibiotics. The concussion you suffered is probably why you're having trouble remembering and why I woke you. You just rest sweetheart, it'll all come back to you soon enough."

The nurse patted him on the shoulder and continued to chatter, but his memories were already flooding back, including his embarrassing collapse in the commander's office. Way to make an impression, Deeks. He was thankful when the talkative nurse finally left, giving him his privacy and time to run the commander's accusation over in his muddled mind. They were going to charge him with murder. The sense of betrayal almost choked him. He was their way to redeem themselves in the eyes of the public, to calm the situation, because everybody loves a big show, and he was going to be the main attraction.

"Sonofabitch."

"You sound pissed," a well-dressed older woman said from the doorway. "Mind if I come in?"

"Who are you?" His voice sounded unkind even to him.

"Captain Reyes sent me," she answered softly. "I'm Maggie Cassano, a department psychologist."

"Finally back to procedure, yeah?" He spit out angrily. "Here to find out if I went nutso and shot two wonderful guys without provocation?"

"I'm on your side, Officer Deeks," she replied calmly. "I'm here to make sure you're all right."

"And to report back if I'm a whack job," he snapped out.

"You don't like mental health professionals, do you?" She laughed. "Or is it just me? I'm very nice and you can trust me. I will file a report, but my job is to make sure you get through this and are able to return to work."

"Right," he said wearily. "Unless I'm convicted of murder."

He ran his hands through his hair, and then stared at them, wondering why they were shaking, as he tried to talk himself down in his head. Even though he had known this was coming, he hated it, his previous experiences as a child doing nothing to help his attitude.

"Is there someone I can call?" She asked. "Family? Friends? Do they know you're okay?"

"You haven't even read my file have you, lady?" His accusation was bitter and his voice mean.

"It's not uncommon to be angry after a shooting," she said reasonably. "But you are acting particularly shitty. Want to tell me why exactly? Is it the fact that you killed two human beings? The death of your partner? A close friend, I understand. Or is there something I should know about that isn't available to me in your file? A bad experience with someone like me?"

Her sharp comments and tough demeanor surprised him and he looked up to assess her more completely. She had to be around fifty, her dark brown hair short and stylish, with streaks of gray in the bangs. Her face was broad, dominated by dark eyes that were calm, but carried a warning.

"Sorry," he said softly. "Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"I did kind of use a shotgun affect there," she said, her smile disappearing as soon as she saw him flinch at what she'd said.

"They didn't give you access to my complete record, did they?" He was quiet, his eyes challenging her.

"No, Officer Deeks, but I can see by your reaction that there was a shotgun involved," the woman's voice was soft and she pulled a chair closer to his bedside and sat down, which eased his nervousness a little.

"I'll stay with you as long as it takes," she softened her voice even more and he nodded his thanks. "You can talk to me about anything. I really am here for you, and I'm a damn good listener."

"And if I don't want to talk, Ms. Cassano?"

"Call me Maggie," she said lightly. "Why don't you want to? You've been through a traumatic experience. Talking is just a way to help you sort it all out, and relieve some of the emotional trauma you're dealing with."

"Or you can tell me what really happened out there, Deeks," Lieutenant Becker said as he sauntered into the room. "You screw up and get your partner killed?"

Deeks clinched his fists as soon as he heard the man's accusation. He felt his heart begin to race and suddenly found he couldn't speak, the flashback hitting him hard. Vernon's blood, his own angry scream, the exploding flames, the image of the two men with guns drawn, all of it tumbling out of control through his head. The psychologist stood up and turned to face the IA detective, effectively blocking him from getting any closer and he was grateful for that.

"This is a private session, Becker," she said sharply, all kindness gone from her voice. "He needs time and when I think he's ready I'll let the incident investigation team debrief him, and that won't be for at least another forty-eight hours. He'll want legal counsel for that."

"Didn't he tell you he's a lawyer?" Becker laughed.

"I'll recommend he not represent himself," she said. "Now, get out and let me do my job. The last person I'll let him talk to is you."

"You haven't changed a bit, Maggie," the lieutenant growled. "Still babying guys who don't deserve it. I'll be seeing you, Deeks."

With a taunting smirk he was gone and Maggie turned back towards Deeks, her face rigid until she recognized what was happening. Sitting down on the chair she took his hand and calmly began to talk to him about everyday things, sharing stories about her dog and cat, her voice soothing, pulling him back to the present.

"Sorry," his voice was shaky and he hated revealing such vulnerability in front of her.

"Is that the first panic attack you've had?" She asked as she handed him a glass of water.

"Since this shooting, yeah," he whispered.

"There's no record of another shooting in your file," she said. "At least as a policeman."

"Ancient history."

"How ancient?"

"It has nothing to do with this case," he snapped out.

"You do sound like an attorney," she said with a smile. "Did you hear anything I said to Becker?"

"Not much, but I could tell you don't like him," Deeks said with a deep sigh. "Thanks for having my back. He thinks I'm guilty. They all do."

"Don't talk to Becker without your rep or your attorney," she said, her eyes flashing briefly in anger.

"Why did Reyes send you?"

"You mean other than the fact that I'm good at my job?" She was quite attractive when she smiled and he was starting to like her.

"You two dating or something?"

"You can actually be quite funny when you want to be, Officer Deeks," she laughed. "Okay. You're entitled to know whom you're dealing with. I graduated near the top of my class at UCLA. I'm divorced and the proud owner of a Great Dane named Pavlov and an orange tabby cat named Sigmund. I'm an incredible cook and gardening is my passion. I live in Westwood and have an office on Wilshire, and I love what I do. Anything else you'd like to know?"

"You did date Reyes at some point though, didn't you?" A cocky half smile warming his face.

"No, Officer Deeks I did not, and you seem to have a one track mind," she answered firmly, the warning back in her eyes. "Marco Reyes was one of my first cases with LAPD. He was a second grade detective with the gang unit and he and his partner were caught in a gun battle with a group they caught making meth. You studied the incident at the academy."

"He's that Reyes?" Deeks sat up, his eyes boring into the woman in front of him. "He carried his partner out of there. He saved his life."

"And almost died doing it," she said sadly. "He understands what you went through, Marty, he killed three men that night. He also understands what you're feeling right now."

"You helped him get through it," he stated softly.

"Yes. After the initial shooting and after his partner committed suicide," she said evenly, her eyes holding his as she spoke.

"They didn't tell us that, but I heard rumors. Why would he kill himself after surviving all that?" Deeks felt his hands trembling again, clasping them in front of his chest as he tried to still them.

"He had a breakdown after he recovered from his physical wounds," she told him. "He felt the same way you do, that everyone was against him, out to get him and he couldn't handle it. Reyes told me he felt ostracized by his fellow officers. He shot himself in Reyes' front yard."

"Sonofabitch," Deeks whispered. "And Reyes felt he let him down."

"Is that how you feel, Marty?" She asked. "That you let your partner down?"

"Don't," his voiced cracking as he closed his eyes against her probing question.

"Okay, let's talk about that 'ancient history' you mentioned earlier," she said calmly. "What caused your first panic attack?"

"I shot my dad when I was eleven," he said, turning away as he spoke, surprised at how easily the words came out of his mouth. "He was falling down drunk and threatened my mom and me with a shotgun, so I shot him. Didn't kill him."

"I'm guessing you saw a psychologist after that," she said gently. "Also guessing it didn't go so well."

"Four. I saw four," he said. "I actually liked the last guy. He was a good listener, too."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked. "How you felt?"

"About shooting my father or how I felt about the three psychologists who wrote me up as incorrigible?"

"How did you feel after you shot your father?" She asked gently, ignoring his obvious challenge.

"I threw up," he said flatly, raising his chin defiantly. "Don't know if it was because I was sorry or because my dad had kicked me in the stomach. Could have been the sight of all that blood."

"Were you sorry?"

"No. The bastard deserved it," he said roughly.

"Were you sorry after you shot those two men yesterday?"

"I didn't feel anything at all," he said haltingly, pausing before continuing. "It was like I was on automatic. They came at me and I just reacted. Then I just sat there. Numb. I felt numb. What does that mean? It makes me sound like a cold hearted bastard."

"Your reaction isn't that unusual," she said. "Were you angry at the time?"

"Still am," he whispered, his words spoken without inflection. "I don't have any family. Vernon treated me like a brother and now he's gone. Was I angry when I fired my weapon? Yeah, I guess I was. They were part of it and all I could see were the guns in their hands. I can't even remember their faces."

"Get some rest, Marty," she said, patting his arm gently. "You'll remember more detail when you're not so exhausted. If Becker comes back, don't talk to him."

"Sounds like you two have history," Deeks said, watching her carefully for a reaction and to see if she would be honest with him.

"He hounded one of my clients unmercifully," she said solemnly. "Got him to admit things that ended his career. Becker enjoys being a hard ass. He gets off on bringing his prey to ground. Don't trust him and don't talk to him without your union rep or your attorney."

"Or you."

"Trusting me a little more?"

"Thank Captain Reyes for me," he said with a soft smile.

"Get some sleep," she said. "I'll come back in the morning and we can talk some more."

"I'm in trouble aren't I?" He stated. "I like being a cop, Maggie, and I will fight like hell to stay one."

"I'm on your side, Marty," she said. "And I'm a fighter too."

"Good to know I'm not alone."

...

Hetty wasn't normally a patient woman when it came to getting things done, and definitely did not like to be kept waiting. She was used to people doing as she said, when she said it. However, considering the current circumstances, she decided to cut Lieutenant Bates some slack. She had called to inquire when he might be available to speak with her, and was given a window of opportunity around dinnertime, the lieutenant returning to his own precinct to eat at his desk. She had been waiting almost a half hour, during which time she had read over the intelligence report sent to her from a close friend at the Department of Defense.

She knew now why the lieutenant's name had sounded familiar. They had actually met, although she was fairly certain he wouldn't remember, since it was during a retaliatory attack months after the initial invasion of Iraq and she had been undercover as a low level staffer with Army Intelligence and he had been assigned to interrogate one of Saddam's henchman who'd been captured by Special Forces. She'd been impressed with the man. He had been patient, methodical and fair, rarely raising his voice, and not easily fooled unless he wanted the prisoner to believe he had been. The man had given up the information they needed and soon after Lieutenant Bates had finished the interrogation, the building they were in had come under attack, killing the prisoner and wounding the lieutenant. They had been trapped in the same large office space together with other staffers and army personnel and he had been stoic throughout the ordeal in spite of the pain he was in.

"Miss Lange?"

"Hello, Lieutenant. Thank you for seeing me," she said graciously. "I know how busy you must be and that you lost some good men in the last couple of days."

"It's a shit storm out there," he answered, and she could hear the anger in his voice.

"Very descriptive, Lieutenant," she said solemnly.

"Sorry about the language, Miss Lange" he said quickly. "How can I help you?"

"Please, call me Hetty," she requested softly. "I've been watching the news and your description of what's happening seems mild in comparison."

"Almost like a war zone, but not quite," he answered, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. "Have we met?"

"A different war zone," she offered cryptically, curious to see if he remembered.

"Different name too, as I recall," he said.

"Yes," she agreed with a tight smile. "You recovered nicely."

"Let me guess. You weren't a low level staffer," he said, sounding slightly miffed. "Probably never have been."

"You are correct, Lieutenant," she said with a brief smile. "I'm surprised you didn't stay in the intelligence field. You were given high marks for your work over there."

"I'm guessing by you. Army brass eventually pushed me out. A story for another time," he said with a hint of bitterness. "So I came home and LAPD was kind enough to give me my old job back."

"Politics are a bitch," she said sadly.

"You looked into my file," He said slowly, sitting up straighter at his desk, his features tight and suspicious. "What agency are you with again Miss Lange, and why are you here?

"I'm actually here to provide intelligence that will help one of LAPD's officers." She answered. "Officer Marty Deeks."

"The kid on the news," he said. "Do you know him? Is he a family friend? Related? Why do you want to help him?"

"Let's just say he caught my attention," she replied. "And I'm afraid that in these chaotic times he might not get the consideration and fair treatment he deserves. We both know how these things can go, and I don't believe Mr. Deeks deserves that. Some might believe that if they throw the mob a bone that they will be satisfied and go away, but you and I both know, that it will only whet their appetite. I believe he deserves more than to be cast into the furnace of public opinion just to cover the department's ass."

"What do you have?" He asked.

She handed him the flash drive Eric Beale had given her with the compilation of security and traffic cam footage of the crime scene. His face was rigid and his eyes narrowed with anger as he watched the murder of Vernon James. He swore quietly when the car exploded and Deeks was blown back against the wall, nervously rubbing his hand over his mouth as two men with guns in hand approached the stunned young cop, finally clinching his fist as Deeks fired.

"He had no choice," Bates muttered as he continued to watch.

Deeks didn't move for some time, just sitting with his gun between his legs and his head bowed. After an unknown older woman helped him up, the security cam showed him looking back at the blazing car, his hand wiping at a line of blood above his eye before following her inside.

"Do I want to know how you got this?" Bates asked.

"That's not important," She said without looking at him. "Notice the time stamp, Lieutenant. You can fast forward through the next twelve minutes and then you'll see why there were no weapons at the scene when the police arrived, which incidentally wasn't until forty minutes after this."

The screen was suddenly filled with a group of men heavily armed with bats and chains and a variety of guns. All sported gang tattoos and were drinking, tossing half empty bottles of whiskey into the burning patrol car, the flames flaring with the new fuel. The group milled around the two dead men, drinking and kicking at their bodies, their faces angry. When a group of looters ran by, a fight ensued over the firearms lying next to the bodies. It was over quickly and the looters scattered, the gang bangers firing at them as they ran, stuffing the recovered guns in their pants and laughing when it was over.

"So you see Lieutenant, this proves Officer Deeks fired in self defense," Hetty said quietly.

"Some people aren't going to like this," Bates said as he leaned back in his chair. "Vernon James was a well respected cop. The officers who finally responded were convinced it had to be Deeks' body in that car. No one wanted to believe a veteran cop could go down in a situation like that and a rookie walk away. Some nasty things were said once Deeks walked into the command center. He came in dressed as a civilian, and that sent up a red flag. Some thought he had run out on his partner and that Vernon must have killed those two before being shot. Just about everyone had heard about or seen the news footage of Deeks, and a lot of them thought he was playing to the camera, that he's nothing but a hot dog, a show-off, and those were some of the nicer comments."

"But that's not what you think, is it?" she stated.

"He's a cocky wise ass, but he kept nine people alive in the middle of an all out riot," Bates said. "That shows me something above and beyond. What's got you so interested in him?"

"You might say that after gaining access to his juvenile records, the actions some saw as grandstanding I viewed as extraordinary," she replied. "He's been intimately familiar with brutality for a very long time, and has faced it with courage and steadfastness, both in childhood and in front of that mob. Don't let politics ruin a promising young man's life."

"That won't be easy," he answered.

"Doing something worthwhile never is."

...

...


	7. Chapter 7

**The Collector**

_Chapter 7_

...

Whispering voices niggled at his mind, slowly drawing him out of his drug induced sleep. When he finally opened his eyes it was to darkness and shushing sounds and a quickly silenced giggle he slowly came to recognize.

"Nika? Is that you?" Deeks asked groggily.

"We didn't mean to wake you, man," Vega said, his solid muscular form silhouetted in the doorway. "Nika was getting antsy and she doesn't quite get what the word 'no' actually means."

"This is the third time we checked on him," Nika sniped back as she slapped his stomach with the back of her hand. "Visiting hours are almost over."

She came to the side of his bed and ran her hand up his arm, leaving it resting on his bicep, her seductive smile causing him to smile in return. Her tongue darted out, wetting her dark lips, and her smoky eyes filled with a familiar longing. He was touched by her possessiveness and felt his body respond as she ran her fingers lightly up and down his arm.

"We wanted to make sure you were all right, Marty," Mrs. Montoya said gently as all of them crowded around his bed.

He turned the lights up to a soft glow so he could see them, their presence comforting in the sterile room. They were all there except for Farley, the Phans and Mr. Montoya, with a few additional people he didn't know and to say he was surprised would have been one of the day's biggest understatements. He was stunned actually and couldn't form any words for a moment, just looking from one to the other in embarrassed silence and gratitude.

"These are my sons, Marty," Mrs. Montoya said, breaking the impasse with her kind understanding. "Enrique and Raul. My daughter Isabel was here earlier, but had to go pick up her kids."

The two men, both dressed in suits, stepped forward and each one in turn reached out to shake his hand, the taller one holding onto his hand with both of his as emotion rippled across his features.

"I'm Raul and we can never thank you enough for what you did for our parents," he said softly.

"How's your dad?" Deeks asked.

"He wants to go home," Enrique said with a smile. "He wants to watch the Clippers' game on his own TV. And in case you're wondering, he's forgiven you for not being a Dodgers' fan."

"Good to know, buddy," Deeks' honest laugh finally easing the awkwardness and making everyone smile. "Who they playing?"

"They're up in Sacramento playing the Kings," Raul said lightly. "They'll probably get beat, but dad is a real fan and never misses a game."

"When you're feeling better, maybe we can treat you to a game," Enrique offered. "We've got season tickets."

"You really don't have to do that, man," Deeks said softly.

"Take the thank you, amigo," Vega said.

Deeks nodded as a powerfully built black man pushed between the Montoya brothers. His eyes were intense and his chin quivered slightly as he laid a big hand on Deeks' knee. He seemed to search for words that wouldn't come and Deeks looked over at Keshawn, who quickly wrapped an arm around the distraught man's shoulder.

"This is my dad," the young man said with obvious pride. "Isaiah Dixon."

"My two boys are all I have, man," finally finding his voice. "I can never repay you for looking out for them. I'm a trucker and when I heard about the riots, I turned around and drove as fast as I could to get back here. But when I got home, they were gone..."

He lost it then, and from the look on Kamar's face, Deeks was pretty sure he had never seen his father cry before. The big man wrapped his arms around both boys and pulled them close as he rode out his turbulent emotions and Deeks felt a wave of envy as his own eyes watered.

"Keshawn had my back out there," Deeks told him. "He put a damn good tackle on a guy. Knocked him out and saved me from getting my ass kicked."

"He said you recommended USC," Isaiah managed to choke out.

"My partner was a wide receiver there," Deeks said quietly, looking down as he fumbled with the IV line, his own emotions tightening his chest.

"Keshawn told me he was killed," Isaiah Dixon said. "I'm so sorry, Officer Deeks."

"He was a good man, and one hell of a wide receiver to hear him tell it," Deeks said, the words catching in his throat as he tried to laugh.

"So when they letting you out of here, amigo?" Vega asked, helping to break up the melancholy mood.

"Hopefully tomorrow morning," he answered. "Then the fun begins."

"What do you mean, Marty," Mrs. Montoya asked, her forehead creasing with concern.

"I'm under investigation. They claim the two men I shot were unarmed," he said numbly, surprised at his own confession. "I could be charged with murder."

"Oh, Dios mio," Mrs. Montoya cried out. "That is not right, Marty. How can they think that?"

"A man kept pestering my mother with questions about that, until I told him to back off," Enrique Montoya said quickly. "He was being a shit. He even threatened me."

"They got statements from all of us," Vega said.

"That's standard procedure," Deeks told them as they began to talk amongst themselves, comparing their experiences.

"I told them you were a hero," Kamar said softly, stopping all the talk with his honest statement. "I told them you protected us and saved Mr. Farley's life. I saw it."

"You should have heard Mrs. Phan berating that guy who interviewed Mrs. Montoya," Vega laughed. "He was pissed. Couldn't get away from her fast enough. She and Dat asked me to tell you that you can eat for free at their restaurant for the rest of your life. Food's good too, man."

"That detective's name was Becker," Enrique added.

"Yeah. That guy questioned me too," Vega said. "He doesn't like you, man."

"Officer Deeks? You throwing a party?" Lieutenant Bates said loudly from the doorway. "Or do you just come from a large family?"

"No sir." Deeks hastily responded.

"We came to see how he was doing," Mrs. Montoya said defensively. "We are his friends."

"You're the people from the noodle factory, and also potential witnesses in an ongoing investigation," he said with authority. "Now if you'll excuse us, I need to talk to Officer Deeks."

Raul Montoya put a protective arm around his mother as his brother Enrique took a business card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Deeks.

"Call me or my brother if you need anything, and I mean anything, any time," he told him softly. "Everyone else's name and number is on the back."

"Except for Farley," Vega said with a laugh. "I thought that bump on the head might have knocked some sense into him. Guess I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time."

"You good, buddy?" Deeks asked.

"Yeah, amigo," Vega whispered. "I'm gettin' there."

He thanked them for coming as they all headed reluctantly for the door, saying their goodbyes with soft smiles of gratitude, some glaring at Bates as they left. Nika lingered, pressing her hand down on his chest as she whispered something in his ear that caused a slow smile to spread across his face. She laughed and kissed him lightly on the cheek and then turned and slowly walked out.

"You should be in PR, Deeks," Bates smiled tightly as he walked up to the bed. "You seem to have a knack with people."

"Except for Lieutenant Becker and Commander Paulson," Deeks replied. "And quite possibly you."

"I heard what they did," Bates said. "Captain Reyes called me. He's a good man to have on your side. He's considering filing a complaint about your treatment. They didn't exactly follow procedure, and Paulson is really embarrassed that you passed out in his office. Pissed too."

"I love to make an entrance," Deeks said softly. "I'm just glad I didn't throw up on his desk."

"The story is already making the rounds," Bates said.

"Great. My reputation just gets better and better," Deeks said as he lay his head back down and stared at the ceiling. "Why are you here, Lieutenant? Going to try your hand at interrogating me too?"

"If I was here to do that, I wouldn't start with pleasantries," he answered sharply. "Maggie Cassano and Captain Reyes have made it clear that the department is to follow procedure and give you a couple of days to recover before you are questioned and have to submit your written report. Marco Reyes has a lot of clout with the commissioner."

"Good to know," he said quietly.

"I read through your file," Bates said, his voice softening. "Wouldn't figure you for an attorney."

"Why? Don't think I look the part?" He snapped out rudely. "Someone like me not supposed to be smart enough to pull that off?"

"Quit being a insolent little prick and I'll tell you why I'm here, Officer Deeks."

Bates voice was cold and commanding and Deeks realized he was walking the fine line of insubordination again. He didn't know this man, but he was a superior officer and he owed his rank respect, even if he was fighting feelings of persecution. He still felt exhausted and the medications he was on reduced some of the control he usually had over his anger. He had been treated poorly by people he thought would be on his side, and even though he should be used to that, it had shaken him. He was feeling isolated and needed to protect himself, but he knew he shouldn't alienate the man in front of him, since he needed all the help he could get right now.

"I apologize, Lieutenant," he said hoarsely, running a shaky hand through his hair as he reined himself in. "Not my normal, charming self at the moment."

"You might not think you have a lot of friends right now, Deeks," Bates said. "But, surprisingly you do. Some you don't even know. Those people you saved last night are staunch supporters and gave glowing reports of your actions. That reporter and news crew you and Officer James saved has been pestering the department about you, and Maggie and Marco have gone to bat for you. They're all on your side."

"Hard to believe, yeah? Guess those hefty bribes really paid off," Deeks said flippantly, a quick smile gone as soon as it appeared.

"If you're not being a dick you're making a joke," Bates said, sounding exasperated. "Listen, kid. You did good out there last night. I'm impressed and I'm not that easy to impress."

"Nothing will matter if I'm charged with murder," Deeks said, his voice breaking as he spoke. "I don't want to lose my badge, Lieutenant. I like being a cop. And I sure as hell don't want to spend the best years of my life in prison."

Bates gave him a moment to compose himself and he appreciated it, taking a sip of water as thoughts of prison worried his mind.

"I'm curious, Deeks," Bates said calmly. "Before I came over here, I talked to a friend in the Public Defender's office. He said you were well respected there and he thought you had a good chance of becoming a child advocacy attorney. He was surprised you opted to become a cop. What's the story?"

"Seriously? You came here for my life story, Lieutenant?" Deeks asked, on the defensive again. "That will take awhile and I wouldn't want to cut into your beauty sleep."

"Change your attitude, kid, or I might not share the good news I came here to deliver," Bates growled as his eyes hardened with anger. "You're being your own worst enemy right now. Didn't your father teach you any respect?"

Deeks couldn't stop the harsh laugh that slipped out, his defiance blazing as he stared at the man. He wasn't about to share anything that personal with someone he didn't know or really trust. This guy obviously didn't know about his childhood or his father's record and he was determined to keep it that way. He knew the lieutenant could find out if he really wanted to, but he doubted after this conversation that the man would give him a second thought.

"Good old dad certainly spent most of our time together trying," he said sweetly, offering a fake smile to convince the man. "He had such a way with words."

"Cut the crap, kid," The lieutenant said as he stood up shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't want to share your career choices or tell me why your father failed to teach you anything useful, that's fine by me. But, as hard as this may be for you to believe, I happen to know you're innocent."

"What?"

"Do I have your attention now, Officer Deeks?"

"Yes sir. Sorry. Why do you believe me?"

"Well it sure as hell isn't because of your charming personality," Bates said. "Let's just say I've come into some hard evidence that proves you fired in self defense. I've already made it available to the incident investigation team on your case and a copy has been sent to internal affairs. They'll still need your written report and you'll have to be on desk duty until you're cleared to return to the field, but with the evidence provided, things should go smoothly from here on out."

"Does that mean I won't have to talk to Maggie again?" Deeks asked.

"You may be clear on the shooting, but you're still dealing with some tough emotional issues," Bates said kindly. "It's not easy losing a partner, I know that from experience. Maggie can help you. Don't try and do this on your own, kid. Talk to her. Tell her about the things you didn't want to tell me. I've interviewed enough people to know when someone's trying to hide something, but in this case the only one that's going to hurt is you."

"I don't know what I should have done differently to save Vernon's life," Deeks said as he stared down at his hands, the memory of all the blood that had coated them fresh in his mind once again. "I was too far away and I couldn't seem to get my gun out. It just happened so fast and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I couldn't even breathe. What did I do wrong, Lieutenant?"

"Were you where your partner told you to be?" Bates asked.

"Yes sir," he answered, looking up into the man's understanding eyes. "But maybe I took too long getting back to the squad car. I shouldn't have left him alone out there."

"You'll always have regrets, Deeks," the lieutenant counseled. "You'll run it over and over again in your head, but the outcome will never change. You have to learn to live with it and learn from it. He was a veteran, kid. He didn't see it coming either."

"What do I say to his parents?" Deeks voice was suddenly choked with tears and Bates reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"I won't lie to you, kid," Bates said quietly. "It'll be the hardest thing you'll ever do. Just be honest with them. Answer their questions as best you can. It's all you can do."

"Do they know how he was killed?" he asked. "I can't tell them that. I can't."

"They know. Now get some sleep, kid," Bates said. "Vernon's funeral is in a couple of days and you'll need all your strength to get through it."

"Yeah," Deeks said quietly. "Thanks, Lieutenant."

...

He was dressed in the only clothes available. The nurses had tossed his, so he was dressed in blue hospital scrubs and the khaki jacket Keshawn had loaned him at the noodle factory. They made him feel like he was someone else, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He had often pretended just that as a child, loving the escape it gave him, secretly please when he fooled someone with the lies he told. Now the odd assortment of clothes simply reminded him that he had no one coming to pick him up, adding to his melancholy as he waited in the cool sterility of his hospital room. The doctor had seen him earlier that morning and signed his release papers, now he was just waiting for the nurse to bring the wheelchair so he could get out, call a cab and go home. He had been lectured about taking his pain meds and staying on the antibiotics prescribed, but he had barely paid attention, tired of the constant questions about how he was feeling. He had only felt anger at their concern. He was fine. It was his partner's face he saw whenever he was asked about his own pain.

He was growing more anxious and limped into the bathroom to look at the damage to his face. The bruises weren't bad, and they didn't bother him, sort of gave him a raffish look. He'd managed to wash his hair, but he hadn't been allowed to get the bandage on his leg wet and had refused the sponge bath offered, desperate for some privacy. Now he felt grungy and wished he had agreed to the sponge bath, even if it would have been given by the cheery, talkative nurse who's voice set his teeth on edge. He was jumpy too. He longed to be home, so he could process what had happened, to find some solace, if there was any to be had for someone who had let his partner be killed right in front of him.

He didn't intend to tell anybody about the barely controllable rage he'd felt as he stared into the destroyed face of his partner, or of the sullen sadness he couldn't shake, coloring everything, making it hard to function. Vernon had been an unexpected gift; a brother longed for, dreamed of for as long as he could remember. He'd been a protector during the day, and a cohort at night on clandestine forays to clubs filled with beautiful and available women. They had been a team. They had been each other's wingman in the truest sense of the word. They had conquered whatever the job threw at them and almost any woman they desired. They told one another their secrets and neither had judged the other. They had been friends. One of the closest he'd ever had. They had been partners and he'd failed to do what a partner is supposed to do. He had failed when it counted and now the gift that had been so precious was gone. The man who'd been his closest friend was simply gone, his ashes already buried in the burned out wreckage of their patrol car.

He could no longer stand. The wave of emotion crashed into him with such force that his legs wouldn't hold him up and he stumbled back against the wall and slid down onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom. His eyes ran with tears he had no strength to wipe away. The pain he felt crushed down on his chest making it difficult to catch his breath and his hands tightly gripped the hem of the khaki jacket as he tried desperately to keep them from shaking.

"Oh God, Vernon," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, brother. I let you down. I let them kill you..."

His remaining words were lost, too hard to utter. His plea for forgiveness silent. His abject sorrow was overwhelming and a sense of desolation made him feel infinitely hollow and so very much alone. He had no idea how long he sat there, lost in guilt and grief, lost in rage, lost in the shame of how badly he had failed.

"Marty?"

"Get the fuck out!"

He screamed it. Suddenly without strength, he couldn't stop them from lifting him to his feet and helping him out of the bathroom and onto the bed. He resisted their attempts to make him lie down, finally pushing them violently away.

"Leave me alone."

"That's not going to happen, Marty," Maggie Cassano said firmly. "Talk to me."

"Fuck you," unable to stop himself from spewing out his own darkness.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing down hard enough to get his attention and he looked up into the stern face of Captain Marco Reyes.

"She doesn't deserve that, son," he said.

"I'm not your son, so fuck off," he spit out as he stood up and pushed past them.

"I came to drive you home, Marty," Maggie said. "Or should I have them keep you another day?"

"You can't do that," he growled out in warning. "I've already been released."

"Then let me help you," she said gently.

"No one can help me," he whispered. "I'm guilty."

"They have evidence that says you're not," Maggie said, her face troubled with confusion. "Didn't Lieutenant Bates tell you that?"

"Yeah, but..." He couldn't finish, not wanting to voice his shame.

"What do you think you're guilty of, Officer Deeks?" Reyes asked, moving up to stand just behind him.

"Vernon should be here," he answered. "If I had done my job...if I had been a good partner, a good friend, he'd be here."

"If you had been right there next to him in that instant, you could have stop it," Reyes stated without inflection.

"Yes. If I had been with him, he'd still be alive."

Deeks turned to stare at him, but Reyes wasn't looking at him, he was looking at his own hands, turning them over and over each other.

"How many men were there?" Reyes questioned.

"One, I think," Deeks said.

"But you're not sure, because that one shooter is the only one you can remember," Reyes said softly. "I remember the man who put three bullets in my partner. Ryan was right beside me. I killed the bastard. I thought he was the only one there, but he wasn't, he was just the only one I saw. It's called tunnel vision. There were two other shooters there and they shot me before I could do a thing. I was lucky though, because they'd been sampling there own product and couldn't shoot straight. I killed them too."

"We studied the firefight at the academy," Deeks said, his eyes softening as he watched the captain turn away from him.

"But you didn't study my partner's suicide," he said as he walked over to stare out the window. "I was talking to him when he did it. Right there in front of him. I could have reached out and taken the gun from his hand, but I didn't, because I didn't think he would do it. I thought I knew him. I thought I could convince him he wasn't alone, just like we're trying to do with you. He wouldn't talk about what was bothering him either, just kept it all inside until he couldn't take the pain anymore. He shot himself so quickly I didn't even have time to react. I still see the blood sometimes. I'm guessing you do too."

Deeks stood frozen in place as he listened to the captain's toneless account of the worst days of his life. He had no idea what to say to him, but he understood what it had taken for him to tell what had happened and it was humbling.

"Please don't keep it all inside, Deeks," Reyes turned back to look at him with wounded eyes. "It's the last thing your partner would want. That I do know."

Deeks eyes suddenly clouded with tears and he was embarrassed by his lack of control. Maggie came and took his arm and led him back to the bed. He sat down, wiping at his face as the other two stood silently in front of him. He could hear Vernon's clear, strong voice in his head and it calmed him.

"You're right," he finally said. "God, I miss him."

"You always will," Reyes said as put a hand on his shoulder. "But you know he would want you to take care of yourself."

"Yeah, he would," Deeks said, huffing out a short laugh as he recalled Vernon bugging him about how poor his diet was. "He told me once I was killing myself from the inside out with all the garbage I ate. Made me take a nutrition course on the internet and got me a juicer when I finished. He looked out for me."

"Sounds like he was a good friend," Reyes said.

"The best," he answered.

"Talk to Maggie," the captain urged. "Don't let the bastard who killed your partner, take you out as well."

Deeks and Reyes stared at each other, understanding passing between them and Deeks nodded, breathing easier, and grateful to the strong man in front of him.

"I'll set up some appointments for you, Marty," Maggie said. "But, right now, let me take you home."

"Thought I'd do that," Nika said from the doorway.

"Who are you?" Maggie asked.

"This is Nika," Deeks answered for her, feeling lighter in her presence. "She was part of the group last night. Didn't know you were coming."

"Thought they might release you, so I came by to see if you needed a ride," she said as she stepped into the room.

"I'd like that," he said softly.

Maggie looked as if she were about to protest, but Captain Reyes flashed him a quick smile and raised his eyebrows as he guided the psychologist toward the door.

"If you need to talk, you can call me too," Reyes said. "But, be sure you meet with Maggie. You'll thank her when this is all over."

"Thank you, sir," Deeks said. "I really appreciate what you told me. I know you didn't have to do that."

"You're not alone, Deeks," he said. "Remember that and reach out. Don't let this eat at you."

"Yes sir."

He remained sitting on the bed, slowly taking in a deep breath when they were gone, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind. A soft giggle and the touch of Nika's hand on his chest made him smile, drawing his thoughts away from the painful memories and back to present company. She stepped closer, standing between his legs as her hands moved up to his shoulders, and then to his face. She leaned in and softly kissed his lips, her warm body pressing against him as her arms encircled his neck, pulling him into a hug. He rested his face against her small breasts, listening intently to her whispered intentions, bringing back memories of their brief encounter and her willowy body he now longed to explore. She smelled of exotic spices and the black leather she was wearing hinted at a wildness of spirit which he was drawn to. She was offering him a way to escape from the dark, turbulent emotions of the past two days and he intended to take it. He longed to run from it all, to lose himself in her comforting embrace, and offered intimacy. She knew nothing about him or his past and didn't seem to care about his current situation. Her only interest was in his body and he was okay with that, needing that release he knew he would find as he always did in the arms of a willing woman.

...

...


	8. Chapter 8

**The Collector**

_Chapter 8_

...

His mouth dropped open as he stared at Nika's ride. He hadn't given a thought to what she drove, but if he had, it sure as hell wouldn't have been a '55 Chevy. That it was painted black was no surprise, but that this Goth chick would own a classic car like the one driven by Harrison Ford in American Graffiti left him shaking his head and smiling with amusement.

"I call it Falfa," she said as her hand brushed across his butt.

"You know about that movie?" He asked as he slipped gingerly into the front seat.

"My dad loves that movie," she said as she revved the engine with a soft grin. "He's a mechanic and found this car in a junk yard. It was a real wreck, but he worked on it for three years and gave it to me when I graduated college."

"Sweet."

"Yeah, he is," she replied as they pulled out into traffic, the deep sound of the engine sending vibrations throughout his body.

"Sounds like you two are close," he said.

"Yeah. He loves me, but he's not too happy about the whole Goth thing," she said. "We came to this country when I was ten. Things in my country were bad then. Very hard for my family. No work. Not much money. My parents grew up on black market Hollywood movies and LA was their dream. They never looked back."

"Sounds like the all American dream," he said wistfully.

"Your family must be very proud of you," she said lightly, glancing at him with dancing eyes. "You are a hero. I thought they would be at the hospital."

"I'm not a hero, Nika," he snapped. "I was just doing my job."

He saw her jump at the harshness of his voice and he reached out to try and soften the blow of his unkind response.

"Sorry. Didn't mean it to come out like that," he whispered as his fingers began to toy with her spiky hair.

"Were you just doing your job when you made love to me?" Her soft giggle easing the tension.

"No, Cupcake. That was all me," he laughed. "Making love to you is anything but work."

She reached for him, her hand sliding provocatively along his inner thigh, her dark eyes softening with want and a tinge of excitement. She was obviously ready to continue where they'd left off and he wanted nothing more than to do the same, needing to escape, to forget the last couple of days and the deep feeling of loss. He took her hand, bringing it up to his lips, watching the flush grow on her cheeks as he ran his tongue between her fingers. When he'd first met her in the back room of the Montoya's store she had seemed cold and distant, but now realized it had been fear and a survival instinct. He wondered if her early childhood had fostered that fear, if there was more to the goth thing than just a trivial exploration of a fashion trend or being caught up in the dark music.

"Why did you go goth?" He asked as he brushed a thumb across her cheek. "You don't seem the type, plus you have no piercings except for your ears and you have that adorable little giggle."

"Are you laughing at me?" She demanded.

"No, no. I wouldn't do that," he quickly answered. "I'm curious about you is all."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it," she said. " I just want to have some fun."

She became silent after that and he was sorry he had broken the mood. She was right. He didn't need details, he needed human contact, to make love to a beautiful young woman and forget the details of his life and hers. When she parked in front of his apartment building, she kept both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead and it saddened him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly as he put a hand over hers, brushing his thumb back and forth over the red snake tattoo on the back of her right hand.

She finally looked over at him and he slid closer, taking her head in his hands and kissing her dark lips gently.

"Come inside," he whispered. "Be with me."

"No talking," she said firmly. "Just sex."

He couldn't hold in his bubbling laughter and she smiled as he covered her mouth with his, pressing her back against the black tuck-and-roll upholstery. He would have continued, but the pain in his leg and his increasing headache made him pull back and he saw the questioning look in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asked, caressing his face with obvious concern.

"Just hurting a little," he said. "Pain meds are wearing off."

"We could do a little X," her voice soft and sensuous. "And each other."

"Not so sure that's a good idea. The X part anyway," he said as she opened the door and pulled on his arm to follow.

"You worry too much," she said as he leaned heavily against the fender of the car.

Her hands slipped into the back of his scrubs, and he groaned softly as she squeezed his ass and leaned into him, her tongue running over his lips as he smiled.

"You are gonna make my neighbors extremely jealous, Cupcake," he said as he pushed away from the car and turned her toward the stairs.

He was beginning to long for his own bed and wondered if having Nika here was a mistake. He was exhausted and in pain, but she was sexy as hell and he wanted to slowly extricate her from those black leather clothes that clung so tightly to her body. Maybe taking a little ecstasy was just what he needed to keep the sadness at bay for a little while. Maybe he had earned a break from all the shit he'd been dealing with.

Once inside he stripped off Keshawn's jacket and dropped it on the arm of the couch. Nika came up behind him, her hands slipping inside his scrubs once again, his body reacting to her inquisitive fingers.

"No neighbors to worry about," her voice dropping into a low purr that excited him. "Want that X now?"

"What the hell," he said as he turned toward her.

She unzipped a side pocket on her tight-fitting jacket and pulled out two pills, one orange and one green, placing the orange one on her tongue before kissing him. Her tongue darted between his lips, leaving the pill behind, her laughter following as she pulled back slightly and sucked in the green pill before kissing him again. He forgot all about his pain meds as she pushed the blue scrubs off his hips, her hands lingering. Before things got too far he grabbed her ass and lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom, and sitting her down on the edge of the bed before slipping out of his shoes and socks, and quickly pulling off the top of the scrubs and tossing it aside. He saw her eyes widen at the dark bruising on his body, but she reached for him, drawing his body to her and began laying kisses below his belly button and lower as she tugged at his pants, her hands moving over him until he began to pant.

"No fair," he whispered. "You still have all these sexy leathers on."

She giggled and lay back on the bed, scooting up into the middle and he followed until he was straddling her. He pulled the heavy zipper of her jacket down and licked his lips as her naked breasts appeared. The familiar skull tattoo lured him lower until his mouth covered it and the rosette of her nipple. He slipped his arm under her back and lifted her to him as he pushed the soft leather off her shoulder, uncovering another tattoo, this one spelling out a man's name. He let her body sink back onto the bed and sat back and looked down at her.

"Who's Alex?" Surprised at the sudden flare of jealousy. He had no claim on her, yet the name bothered him and he wanted to know,

She turned her head away and tears gathered under her lashes and he rolled off of her and lay down facing her, gently wiping the tears away.

"He was my brother," she answered, pulling her jacket back over the small flowery tattoo.

"What happened?"

"You don't care, so why are you asking?" she said viciously. "It is none of your fucking business."

He pulled her close and kissed her wet cheeks as she started to cry softly into his bare chest. He held her until she pushed against him and then rolled onto her back, staring into space and wiping away her remaining tears with trembling fingers.

"He was fifteen the year before we came to America," she said quietly. "He was so beautiful. Blond like you, but small for his age. He wanted to prove to Papa that he was a man, so he joined the protests in the streets. Papa was active in the fight for Ukrainian independence, and Alex wanted to be like Papa more than anything. They killed him."

"Who?"

"The police," she whispered. "He was just a boy, but they shot him."

"Nika, I'm so sorry," Deeks said softly.

"It was not your doing. Even after my country got independence, Papa couldn't stay there after what happened, so we came here," she said, wiping more tears. "I still miss him. I would follow him everywhere and it drove him crazy. He made me stay home that day. He said I was just a baby, but I was nine and I was mad at him and called him awful names when he made me stay with Mama."

"I'm sure he forgave you," he told her.

"The riot reminded me of him," she said. "I was so afraid until you came. Even though you were police, I saw that you wanted to protect us, and then you did."

He gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead, but she raised her head and began to kiss him urgently and he knew she wanted to forget as much as he did. The ecstasy was coursing through his veins now and he felt euphoric and slightly dizzy. He shoved Nika's black leather jacket off her shoulders and pulled it away from her body. He fumbled for the zipper on her short skirt as she sucked on his neck, her tongue making him crazy, her dark nails clawing across the skin of his back as the drugs began to affect her. She writhed with energy as he pulled the leather skirt and black lace panties down past her hips, exposing the pale nest of hair between her legs. He felt a shiver as he pulled the skirt off, leaving her naked except for the black boots she wore. He became aroused at the sight of her and clasped her ass in both hands and raised her to his mouth. She was moaning now and moving rhythmically as his tongue moved inside of her, teasing and bringing her to the edge of a climax. She came in an explosion of cries, bucking wildly and then laughing, suddenly pulling at the blue scrubs he still wore. He let her do as she wished, the drugs swirling his mind as he experienced a wave of exhilaration full of bright colors and rushing noise. She rode him until he released in a wild wave of fire, cooling slowly as she nuzzled under his ear, her tongue sending electric ripples down through his abdomen. Her body was now slippery with sweat, and his was still pulsing as he caressed her butt. She rose up on her elbows and stared down at him, her eyes so dark and seductive, flashing with need and drug induced excitement.

"You are magnificent," she said quite seriously, making him throw back his head and laugh.

"Who needs drugs when I've got you, Babe," he said as he rested his hands on her thighs.

"Turn over," she demanded. "I want to kiss your ass."

He exploded in laughter, confusing her, until she also began to laugh and neither one could seem to stop. She tumbled off of him and they lay side by side on their backs laughing wildly, her giggle charming and light and full of promise.

He trailed his fingers down the center of her body until his hand came to rest on her abdomen. She looked over at him, her laughter sliding into a smile, her tongue wetting her lips as she spread her legs, inviting him to excite her once again. His long fingers moved slowly inside of her, the wetness warm and welcoming. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, the ecstasy heightening every sensation, even the sound of her whispers. She whimpered her delight as she moved under is hand, finally gasping as she breached the edge and laughed, rolling over to tuck her head under his chin as she stroked him, returning the favor and making his heart race and his mind go blank as he felt the explosion of pleasure her lips released.

They were both glossed with sweat, her smell intoxicating as he lay his head between her breasts, his fingers and tongue taking turns toying with her rosy nipple, making her giggle. Both her hands were in his hair, cording it through her fingers, relaxing him until he was close to sleep, his painful memories pushed into the far reaches of his mind as he gave into fatigue. She began to sing a soft, haunting song in her own language and it was the last thing he remembered as he drifted off.

...

Dark images flashing through his mind woke him and he jerked awake. He could see her standing naked in the bathroom, drying herself after a shower with one of his big beach towels. He lay back down, his eyes tracing the curve of her back down to her firm little ass, wanting her again as she bent over to dry her legs. When she stood she saw his reflection in the mirror and ran her tongue along her bottom lip, her eyes turning dark and he knew she wanted him too. She dropped the towel on the floor and picked up a washcloth, running the water through it and squeezing the excess out. Why that looked sexy he had no idea, probably having something to do with her being naked, so when she turned and walked back into the bedroom holding the damp cloth between her breasts, he felt himself harden. She didn't speak, just eased onto the bed and crawled up and stretched out beside him, running a hand under his head, cradling his face against her breasts. She slowly began to gently clean his chest with the cool cloth, wiping the sweat off as she hummed the same song he had gone to sleep to. He closed his eyes and succumbed to the gentle caress of the cloth as she rubbed it over his body. He zoned out as she cleansed the remains of their lovemaking, the experience so unusual and completing comforting, and he was grateful.

"You're sweet," he whispered.

"Do the cuts hurt?" She asked as she continued.

"Some."

"I'll be gentle."

She kissed him. Not urgently like before, but tenderly, pressing one to his lips and then another on his jaw and under his ear and another at the base of his neck. He shivered, but lay docilely as she continued, letting her tend him, welcoming the feeling it gave him to be cared for, something he wasn't used to and hadn't been for a very long time. But then, she was unusual.

When she finished, he took the cloth from her hand and tossed it aside, sweeping his hand through her short hair and kissing her passionately and then pulling her tightly to his chest, stroking the curve of her back as he held her. They had no reason to speak, their hands and lips communicating all they needed to say, the sensuous feel of each other's skin giving them both the comfort they sought.

He thought they had slept, smiling as he heard her softly snore, but his movement woke her and she stretched out like a cat, her arms over her head as she yawned.

"I'm hungry," she said.

"Me too," he said. "But I don't have anything here, so we'll have to go out."

"Would you mind if we went to my parents' house?" She asked, looking hesitant for the first time. "They wanted to thank you and Mama would love to make you lunch."

"She doesn't have to do that, Nika, really," he rushed out.

"I promised," she said hopefully. "They were scared for me when I didn't call that night. They were watching the news and knew I was working at Farley's shop. Papa was going out of his mind with worry. I called from the hospital and that totally freaked them out. When I told them what you did, they wanted to meet you, even though Papa doesn't like police."

"Because of what happened to your brother?" Deeks asked.

"He was a prominent activist," she replied. "He was beaten and jailed a few times and so he is still fearful, you know? He doesn't trust easily."

"Understood," Deeks said.

"And just so you know, my mother loves cooking and feeding people. My last boyfriend gained ten pounds in four months," Nika said lightly. "Of course, he was a pig."

"Of course he was," Deeks laughed at her scrunched up nose, wondering how soon he would be dropped as well.

"So you'll come?" She asked.

"You're hard to say no to, Cupcake," he laughed and rose to dress.

...

As they drove through the residential streets of Inglewood, Deeks began to wish he hadn't agreed to this. The small houses reminded him of his own childhood home and many of those memories were never welcome. Nika seemed excited though, so he figured he could be polite and manage to endure a quick lunch. She was an odd girl, but he liked her, drawn by her quirkiness, her smoky, seductive eyes and unbelievably sensuous body. She was an inventive lover and sweet and he wanted to indulge her.

"I don't even know your last name," Deeks said, smiling softly.

"Kulish," she said. "I am Annanika Kulish."

"And you are very hot." He laughed, receiving a shy look of pride in return.

Pulling into the driveway of a blue stucco house, he tried to distract himself from his current thoughts, tearing his eyes from her ass as she exited the car. He wanted her again for the distraction she was or maybe just because she came to him so eagerly and seemed to care about him.

He saw her parents come out to greet her and he groaned wearily as he eased himself out of the old car, gripping the door to steady himself before putting all of his weight on his injured leg. He was beginning to feel every cut and bruise he'd suffered, the massive one from the chain especially tender. He had forgotten to take his pain meds before they left his apartment and was still running a slight fever, so he was anxious to get the impromptu visit over with, not expecting an overly warm welcome from Nika's father. Her mother, however, had no such reservations, greeting him heartily with wide-open arms and a charming accent and wide smile. She must have been in her mid-fifties, an attractive woman with a high cheekbones and hazel eyes and graying blond hair. Nika's father was a big, solidly built man, his light brown hair slightly long, reserved and silent in his greeting, his handshake crushing, and his eyes guarded and scrutinizing. Deeks wouldn't want to get on his bad side, his overbearing presence ominously reminding him of his own father, making him even more anxious to be done with this.

"Please. Come and sit," Mrs. Kulish said warmly, pulling him into the small living room.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Kulish," he said. "It really wasn't necessary."

"You saved my daughter's life," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "I want to thank you, so I cook."

"It smells wonderful," he said quickly.

He began to look around the room, uncomfortable with the attention. It was cozy and filled with knick-knacks and other clutter, and lots of photographs. There was a black upright piano under the window that was covered in framed photos he assumed were of family, which appeared to be extensive. He was drawn to them, always fascinated by other people's families. He examined them closely, noticing the many images of a young boy at all stages of his life, some very formal and some of him laughing with Nika.

"My son, Alex," Mr. Kulish said from behind him. "He was only fifteen when he was killed by police in Ukraine."

"Nika told me," Deeks answered, taking a step away from the man. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He saw that they were the only ones left in the room and he looked nervously around for Nika and her mother.

"They go to the kitchen to finish lunch," he said, his accent thick and his voice deep and slightly unnerving.

Deeks looked for anything that might be a distraction, his breathing now shallow from a slight feeling of panic that he hadn't experienced since childhood. The effects of the ecstasy seemed to have vanished, leaving him a little down and he nervously ran his hands through his hair, hoping lunch would show up soon. Nika's father said nothing, but his presence was like a shadow of the past and he swallowed down the bad taste in his mouth as he tried to physically distance himself from the man who reminded him so much of his father. As he turned he inadvertently ran into the edge of the piano, which hit him squarely on the wound in his leg and the flush of sudden pain caused him to cry out and stumbled back, his vision dimming as he tried to stay on his feet. Nika's father caught him as he faltered, his strong arms wrapping around him, holding him up as he road out the bright ribbons of pain.

"Shhh, shhh, sit here," the man's voice came out soft and surprisingly comforting as he helped him sit down. "It will ease. Shhh."

Mr. Kulish sat down beside him on the couch, his hand resting firmly at the back of his neck, saying something in his own language as he checked him over. His eyes were troubled and there was a hint of vulnerability that hadn't been there before.

"Sorry. Should have watched where I was going," Deeks offered.

"You were shot?" He asked.

"No. Our patrol car was firebombed and exploded. Glass shards hit me," he gasped out as the pain slowly subsided.

The man nodded and then put a rough hand on his forehead, surprising the hell out of him and he struggled to move away.

"Shhh, boy," Mr. Kulish said. "You have fever and you look very tired. You need rest."

"I'll be fine," he said quickly.

The man seemed to understand his skittishness, and moved away from him, sitting on the edge of the couch with his hands hanging between his legs and his head down.

"I don't know what I would do if I lost my Nika," he said solemnly. "I am strong man, but I can't lose another child. It would kill me."

"She's pretty strong herself," he said, trying to comfort the man in return.

"I still think she is little girl," he said, a tentative smile changing everything about him. "I told her to quit job, but she is stubborn. Don't want to listen to parents."

"She does seem to do as she pleases," Deeks laughed.

"I say thank you, but that is nothing. Just words," he whispered, as he laid a big hand on his shoulder. "You are welcome here always. There is no payment for what you have done."

"I was just doing my job, sir," Deeks said.

"No. I know police. They don't protect the people. They work for government," he spit out angrily. "You fought for my Nika. She told me. You not normal policeman."

"My partner would have definitely agreed with that," Deeks smile crookedly, but was struck by a wave of melancholy as he thought of Vernon's hearty laugh.

"Nika told me he was killed," Mr. Kulish said quietly. "He was good man, too?"

"He was the best. A good man and a good friend," Deeks said as he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to banish the empty feeling. "I miss him."

"Your family will help," he said firmly. "Family gets you through hard times."

Deeks looked quickly over at him and let the comment pass, deciding it was time to get off the couch, his heart pounding at the effort it took. Mr. Kulish took his arm to steady him, patting him gently on the back when he finally was able to stand alone.

"You don't have family, do you?" the big man stated sadly. "Your eyes told me this."

"Sometimes it's better that way," Deeks said as Nika came into the room.

"Mama's got lunch on the table," she said brightly. "She's a really good cook. Very traditional."

Deeks listened to her rattle off unfamiliar names of dishes as he followed her into the kitchen. There was a large round oak table in the corner under the windows, and he thought it was probably groaning under the weight of all the dishes of food that covered it. It was a sunny corner overlooking the backyard garden and he suddenly envied Nika for this pleasant place and for parents who doted on her.

"You are too skinny," Mrs. Kulish said. "Why does your mama not feed you more?"

"Leave the boy alone, Anna," Mr. Kulish scolded and then quickly said something in Ukrainian and he saw a veil of sadness shadow her face.

"This looks fantastic, Mrs. Kulish. I'm guessing you've been cooking all morning," Deeks said as he looked at Nika with a raised eyebrow. "This wasn't spur of the moment was it?"

"They wanted to meet you and like I told you, Mama loves to cook," Nika said, shrugging her shoulders. "Just eat."

Mrs. Kulish hovered over him, naming each dish as she piled the food on his plate, his eyes widening at the amount they expected him to eat while Nika giggled. When the woman was satisfied that it was enough, she sat and then watched him closely as he took his first bite, her face curious and kind.

"You win, Mrs. Kulish," he said, smiling broadly. "Best Ukrainian food I've ever eaten."

Nika kicked him under the table and her father laughed out loud, both catching on and letting his comment slide. Mrs. Kulish fussed over him and waited on him no matter how much he protested and he slowly began to relax and enjoy it all. By the time he was finished he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, an aching fatigue dragging at him.

"This was fantastic. Thank you," he said, deeply touched by their kindness. "But I should be getting back. Kinda tired."

He tried to rise from the chair, but didn't quite make it to his feet, sitting back down as the room began to spin. Mrs. Kulish came quickly to his side, her hands gently touching his face and then his forehead, before looking up at her husband and speaking rapidly in Ukrainian. Mr. Kulish helped him to his feet and walked him down a hall to a small bedroom and despite his protests forced him down on the bed.

"You stay here. Rest," he said firmly.

"You don't have to do this, really," he reasoned. "Nika can just drive me home."

"You have fever," Mrs. Kulish said. "Now lay down. You need sleep."

"Shhhh, boy. Don't argue with her. You will not win," Mr. Kulish said, smiling as he lifted his feet and swung them up on the bed, as his wife pushed his shoulders down, and his head dropped onto the soft pillow.

Whatever energy he'd had slowly seeped away as he listened to Nika and her parents quietly talking in their own language. He felt a cold damp cloth pressed against his forehead and he looked up briefly into the worried face of Mrs. Kulish, but he couldn't keep his eyes open and began to succumb to exhaustion and the effects of the incredible amount of food he had just eaten. Nika's father sat down next to him and put a hand on his knee, shushing him as he had earlier, reminding him that the man was nothing like his own father. He mumbled his thanks as a blanket was draped over him and simply gave in to the comfort of the moment, briefly feeling self indulgent, but then selfishly allowing them to take care of him, savoring the rare experience.

...

...


	9. Chapter 9

The Collector

Chapter 9

...

The rain had slowed to a dissipating drizzle, but she still held the large black umbrella low over her head, letting it hide her presence on this sad occasion. She had debated with herself about coming to Vernon James' funeral, but the opportunity to observe the officer who had caught her attention so completely had been too hard to resist. She'd always been able to blend into most crowds, although at this event she kept her distance, not wanting Bates to blow her cover, not that he would have, but she felt it was best not to tempt fate. Obscurity suited her, and her ability to move unobtrusively in any situation, including close contact, was legendary.

The number of people at the graveside other than the expected cadre of police officers was impressive, revealing just how much the downed officer was respected and loved. It made the loss seem even more tragic to see the number of people affected by his sudden death. She wanted no such ceremony when she passed, feeling it would be unseemly to draw attention to herself in death when she did not seek that attention in life. She was most comfortable in the shadows, although she could operate forcefully in the light if necessary. She took pride in the fact that not many people had the nerve to cross her in either circumstance.

She positioned herself so she could observe Officer Deeks, needing to see him in person and to assess how he dealt with such a life-changing event. She understood what he was dealing with. She had suffered the loss of several partners in her journey through the minefield of her profession, and she knew the toll it could take on a person if you let it. She was curious to see if Mr. Deeks could overcome this latest loss, knowing he was already familiar with the emotional pain life could inflict.

He presented a strong, but subdued presence; so different from the one she had seen on the late night news those few short days ago, the cockiness long gone. He wore his deep navy blue dress uniform well, the unruly hair seen in the news footage hidden under the dark cap pulled down low over his eyes. He walked with grace, but favored his right leg, and she was close enough to see that the bruises he had around his eyes had started to fade. Sadness weathered his face, but he stood solidly by Officer James' parents, bending down to his mother several times to whisper some comment she appeared to be grateful for. If he had tears to shed, they were held in check for the moment, although she had no doubt he had given into them at some point. He was young and the events surrounding his partner's death had been traumatic. Even some of the older veterans were surreptitiously wiping at their eyes.

When the service was over, he stood alone by the graveside and she could see him fighting his emotions. Other officers were talking in small groups, but no one approached the distraught young man to offer condolences or support, and that angered her.

"Surprised to see you here," Bates said from just behind her. "Surveilling at a funeral. You really do have a thing for this particular cop."

"I wouldn't call it a 'thing', Lieutenant, but there is nothing like personal observation to evaluate someone," she responded coolly. "Or to assess the actions of those who should have that someone's back."

"He's surrounded by a lot of uncertainty right now," Bates said as he stepped up beside her. "Vernon had a lot of friends in that division. Deeks not so much. Especially now. No one's sure they can trust him and that could make things dangerous for him."

"Haven't they been made aware of what actually happened?" She asked.

"At this stage it's all rumor," he replied. "The actual footage you provided is being kept under wraps until the investigation is complete. Even then, it will only be seen by a few higher ups and the investigative team, not the officers he'll work with on a daily basis. Rumor will still rule the day."

"Is there something you can do?" She asked, challenging him with a piercing glare.

The lieutenant didn't answer, but she could tell he was debating the possibilities. If she had judged him correctly, he was drawn to the young officer too.

"He's a smart ass, you know," Bates grumbled. "Unconventional. A little wild. Stubborn. And irritating. He could use some discipline and structure."

"Maybe one of the reasons he became a police officer was knowing he needed that structure," she reasoned. "He cares about people too, Lieutenant. You said it yourself—he went above and beyond for those people that night. That is a man you can count on."

"I know you have resources," he said. "And I'm pretty sure you know more about him than you've told me. You hinted at some of it."

"I'm sure if you want to know more about him you have ways of finding out," she said with a reserved smile. "His juvenile files would be of interest, but, it's what he accomplished after that which makes him somewhat unusual."

"You are a very secretive little lady," he snorted.

"And because I am, I don't judge people by appearance, or too quickly," she said pointedly.

"Captain Reyes is pushing for him to be awarded the Police Life-Saving Medal for getting those nine people out safely," he told her as they walked toward their cars.

"I'm guessing there may be some resistance to that," she responded.

"Not for long. If they can't throw him to the mob, the next best thing for the department is to make him a hero," Bates said.

"Isn't that what he is?" She stopped to hold his attention.

"There may always be questions about how he handled himself when Officer James was shot," Bates answered softly. "But no one disputes what he did to save those people."

"And I intend to provide proof so that no one disputes that he shot the men responsible for Officer James' death," she said slowly.

"You have new information?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Bates, I do," she replied.

"How the hell do you get this kind of evidence?" He blustered. "You got a genie in a bottle somewhere granting you wishes?"

"I've never thought of it quite that way, but I suppose I do," she answered with a tight smile, wondering what Mr. Beale would make of the characterization.

"You're scary, you know that?" Bates huff out, followed by a short laugh and a shake of the head. "When can I expect this unexpected gift?"

"It was dropped off at your office this morning," she replied.

"Uh oh. Trouble," Bates said as he moved swiftly toward Deeks, who had been quietly talking to Maggie Cassano.

Lieutenant Becker and a couple of Vernon's buddies on the force had interrupted their conversation, and Maggie stood between the men and Deeks, who looked devastated and angry. Maggie was trying to calm the situation down when Bates arrived.

"Your boy was high that night, Maggie," Becker charged. "Blood test at the hospital confirmed he had drugs in his system."

"This is not the time or place, Becker," Maggie whispered, trying to keep the conversation private.

"That right, Deeks?" One of the officers asked angrily. "Is that the reason you didn't back up Vernon? That the reason he got killed?"

"What the fuck were you on, you little shit?" Another officer asked as he grabbed Deeks' shirt.

"Nothing. I wasn't on anything. I wouldn't do that to him, Ben. You know that, man," Deeks said, his voice raw. "You know Vernon wouldn't have put up with that crap. He would have kicked my ass."

"All of you back off," Bates said as he stepped in front of Deeks. "Show some respect for Officer James and his family."

"I want answers, Bates," Becker said arrogantly.

"Well, you're not getting them at a downed officer's funeral," Bates said, glaring at all of them. "Now leave it alone. That's an order."

"I'll be talking to you later, Deeks," Becker promised. "This ain't over. And just for your information, Bates. I don't take orders from you."

He and the other two men walked off and Deeks watched as they met up with another group of officers and the information repeated. He hung his head and turned back to face Vernon's grave, standing silently shaking his head.

"You just keep making trouble for yourself, don't you Deeks?" Bates said.

"I believe him, Bates," Maggie said.

"Drug tests don't lie," Bates said.

"One of the people at the noodle factory gave me something to help with the pain," Deeks said wearily. "I was too tired to ask what it was."

"That was pretty stupid, kid," Bates said.

"Yeah, well, I needed it at the time," he answered gruffly. "But, no ones going to believe me or care are they?"

"I won't lie to you, kid," Bates said as he walked up beside him. "It'll be rough going back to that division. The rumors will follow you, even if you can prove you took the drugs later. Who gave them to you?"

"I won't tell you that," he said.

"Are you trying to sabotage your career, Deeks? Cause it sure as hell sounds like it," Bates said gruffly. "You're a cop, dammit. Start acting like you still want to be one."

Bates left him there alone with Maggie, striding past the small groups of remaining cops, most of whom were watching Deeks. Hetty had observed it all, standing just far enough away not be noticed, and still be able to hear. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his unruly hair, then put his hat back on and reached out and laid his hand on his partner's coffin. She saw his jaw clinch and his face harden as he stretched to his full height, his chin raised in defiance as he turned and walked through the thinning crowd of mourners to speak to Vernon's parents. It was when they hugged him that she saw the first tears of the day, his breakdown happening before he could gather himself. She thought their kindness and understanding must have touched him deeply, being such a contrast to the confrontation he'd endured only moments ago. He attempted to leave, but Vernon's father put both hands on his shoulders and spoke earnestly to him and then ushered him into the black town car, helping his wife in before he turned to stare intensely at a group of police officers standing with Becker. His message of support was clear and she saw some of them look away, seemingly embarrassed and not able to meet the man's steady gaze. He held it until the men began to leave, even Becker not willing to challenge the father of a slain officer. Only after they had all dispersed did he join his wife and Deeks, the door closing on their combined grief as the black car began to move slowly and solemnly away from the cemetery.

...

Yesterday had been a blur, the same for the two days before that, both nights shortened by nightmares. He had gone to a couple of appointments with Maggie, but hadn't answered any of Nika's calls, knowing he wouldn't be much fun to be around and she had finally quit calling. He felt strung out, exhausted by lack of sleep and the emotional turmoil of Vernon's funeral, and now he had been ordered downtown by Lieutenant Bates to meet with him and Captain Reyes and other members of the brass whose names he wasn't familiar with. He'd submitted his written report to the investigative team two days ago, so this little meeting was where he would find out his future, or if he even had one. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't muster the energy for it, feeling mostly numb and knowing he had no control over anything that was about to happen to him, whatever that was. He did admit to himself that he was nervous and reminded himself not to let his tongue get ahead of his brain, something he'd had trouble doing his entire life.

Bates had called him a wise ass and he couldn't disagree. He'd been considered the class clown at the academy, which endeared him to some of the cadets, but pissed off many of his instructors. If he hadn't been near the top tier in most of his classes he probably would have been booted out pretty early on. He'd sat at the top of his class in Law, which wasn't a surprise, his instructor quite impressed that he had a real live lawyer in his class, and he'd managed to break into the top five percent in Human Relations. He hadn't lied about his marksmanship when he'd told Vega he'd placed seventh. It was his favorite part of training, loving the challenge, and the thrill of competition, seduced by the experience of having control of such a powerful weapon. Now he hoped some of what he did there and on patrol with Vernon would count for something. He liked being a cop. He liked helping people out of dangerous situations, taking down a robber or gang member who was preying on innocent people like the Montoyas. Now he wondered if this was the end of his career, over before he could even prove that he could do this job and do it well.

After parking he straightened his uniform and hat and reluctantly headed for the entrance, taking a deep breath as he entered the elevator and rode up to the top floor. It was late in the day and there were few people around when he got out, but he was pleased to see a familiar face.

"Hey, Maggie," he said softly. "Didn't know you would be here."

"Captain Reyes asked me to come," she said with a warm smile. "He thought you might like the support."

"So no public hanging?" Deeks quipped. "Just a private execution then?"

"I should have expected gallows humor from you, Marty. We'll have to work on that negative attitude of yours," she scolded. "Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions."

"You know something I don't?"

"I know a lot of things you don't, Officer Deeks," she laughed as he made a face.

"Except how to get a date with Captain Reyes," he sniped back, relaxing a bit as they bantered with each other.

"I have his number if you're interested," she challenged.

"Wouldn't want to steal the man of your dreams," he said. "Seriously, Maggie, you should ask him out."

"Stay out of my love life, Marty Deeks."

"I would if you had one," he cracked with a crooked grin.

An opening door ended their conversation and the easiness he was feeling disappeared with the appearance of Lieutenant Bates. He waved them inside and Deeks closed his eyes briefly and tried to steady his nerves as he walked into the large office and into a meeting he wasn't really prepared for. His head spun when he saw the wall of high-level men waiting for him, their faces stern, with no hint of welcome visible. He felt the hair on his arms rise and the back of his neck tingled in warning. This was not going to be good. Captain Reyes came to greet him, and he searched his face trying to get some sense of how much trouble he was in, but the man wore a pleasant expression, confusing him even more.

"Officer Deeks," he said with kindness. "This is Deputy Chief Ross, Commander Kendrick of the Central Bureau, and Captain Sanchez of the Central Division and you know Lieutenant Bates. Gentleman, Officer Martin Deeks."

Deeks didn't know whether to salute or stay standing with hat in hand. He sure as hell had no idea what to say or the reason he was standing in front of the Deputy Chief of the Department.

"You came very close to ending your career, Officer," the Deputy Chief said calmly. "And I'm not convinced we should be saving it, but we've got enough on our plate at the moment. If it wasn't for Lieutenant Bates you'd be out on your ass. He has obtained evidence that proves you might actually be worth saving. You're up Bates. Show us what you've got."

The room darkened and all eyes turned to the screen on the wall and Deeks felt his mouth go dry as black and white footage of the scene in front of the Montoya's store played out in front of him. He began to tremble and backed up, knowing what was coming, but totally unprepared for his reaction when he saw the gun fired into his partner's face once again. Captain Reyes put an iron grip on his shoulder as he gasped out his pain, a roaring red anger blinding him as the men in the room turned to stare at him. He felt Maggie by his side, but he couldn't acknowledge her, his eyes unable to look away from the flashing images of himself as he raced to his partner's side, desperately yelling into what was left of his face. The silence in the room was deafening as the firebombs hit, and the brilliance of the explosion making him blink for the first time when his body slammed violently against the wall. There was no sound with the footage, but his mouth was open in a scream he didn't remember as the flames engulfed his partner. He heard the Deputy Chief swear, and he saw the bureau commander clinch his fist, but his own rage began to build as he waited for the men he'd been accused of murdering to come into the frame. The film showed he wasn't even looking at them as they walked around the burning patrol car. He seemed disinterested until they raised their weapons, but when they did, he reacted almost mechanically, and incredibly fast, shooting both men before they even got their guns in a firing position.

"They were laughing," he whispered, tears blurring his eyes. "They were bragging that they killed a cop."

"That wasn't in your written statement," Captain Sanchez remarked sharply.

"I just remembered," he stammered.

The footage went to black and in seconds another grainy video from a different viewpoint captured the face of the man who had killed Vernon. Deeks stepped forward, almost in a trance as he watched the man run past the car and stop to fire.

"It's one of the guys I shot," he said numbly. "I killed the fucking sonofabitch, Maggie."

"Yes you did, Deeks," Lieutenant Bates said quietly.

"Only one question remains," Commander Kendrick said as he stepped in front of him. "We're you high when it happened?"

"What? No. No sir, I was not," he answered defiantly, standing to his full height. "My partner wouldn't have let me in the car if I had been, sir."

"I spoke with the person who gave him the drugs," Bates said. "She confirmed his story that she gave him a tab of ecstasy laced with ephedra at the noodle factory where they were holed up after escaping the store."

"May I remind you Deputy Chief that Officer Deeks had been wounded during the explosion and had fought off three gang bangers during that escape," Captain Reyes said.

"That's no excuse, Marco," Ross snapped. "I have zero tolerance for drug use by any of my officers. If I ever get wind of you using drugs again, Officer Deeks, your ass will be out of the department. One single rumor and you're done. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir, Deputy Chief," Deeks answered at attention. "Does that mean I'm not fired sir?"

"That means everybody's watching you," he said sharply. "So don't screw up."

"No sir. Thank you, sir."

"You're being transferred to my bureau, Officer Deeks," Commander Kendrick said. "Captain Sanchez has agreed to take you in his division and you'll be under Lieutenant Bates command. Commander Paulson was not sorry to see you go. He still hates it when someone brings up the fact that he let one of his own men pass out on his desk."

"Understood," Deeks replied, surprised at the suddenly friendly comment. "I missed his desk sir, but I managed to take out a chair."

"Shut up, kid," Bates growled.

"Vernon James was well liked in the Southeast Division," Captain Sanchez said quietly. "Some of his friends would make it difficult for you there, even when they find out you took out his killer."

"He was my friend too, sir," Deeks said fervently.

"He would want you to move on, son," Commander Kendrick counseled. "Make the best of this situation and your life."

The atmosphere in the room had subtly changed, the ranking officers voices softening as they spoke to him, the tension slowly lessening for everyone.

"There is one other thing, Officer," the Deputy Chief said. "In a ceremony next month honoring fourteen of our officers, you'll be receiving the Police Life-Saving Medal for getting those nine civilians to safety."

"Seriously?" Deeks was stunned, looking quickly over at Maggie, unsure how to respond. "I was just doing my job, sir."

"And we're acknowledging that publicly," Deputy Chief Ross said. "The reporter you and your partner saved has been pestering me about you and a Mrs. Phan has been quite vocal about what you did that night. My secretary is starting to dread picking up the phone."

"She is a handful, sir," he said, finally allowing himself a crooked grin. "I think she was a SWAT commander in a former life."

"She wasn't the only one to speak up on your behalf," Ross said as he held up a sheaf of letters. "The Montoyas, a family named Kulish, a high school kid named Dixon, and a decorated ex-Army medic have all sent letters or notes."

"Did you say decorated medic?" Deeks asked.

"Staff Sergeant Orlando Vega. Bronze Star for Valor in Iraq," the Deputy Chief answered.

"Did he say that in his letter?" Deeks asked as he took a step closer.

"It was a short note actually. Not much about himself, just a few details about your actions. He was quite precise." he replied. "I had my secretary check him out."

"He never said anything," Deeks said softly. "I wouldn't have gotten all those people out of there without him."

"Sounds like a good man," Commander Kendrick said. "What's he doing now?"

"He's living under the 110 Freeway," Deeks replied.

The comment silenced them all until Deeks asked if he was free to go. He thanked them and made promises, but his mind was on Vega and he was anxious to go. He had to find him. He couldn't leave him there. It wasn't right.

...

He laughed when he pulled the faded Dodgers cap down over his eyes, wondering how Mr. Montoya was doing and feeling regret that he hadn't checked on him. He still felt a connection to all those people and was curious if that was normal, intending to talk it out with Maggie the next time he saw her. He was dressed in his oldest pair of ragged jeans, the knees almost gone and the hems ragged and stringy. He had taken a stained, long sleeved t-shirt from the dirty clothes pile on his washer, and pulled a dark navy pea coat from the back of his closet. He had bought it from a thrift store when he was in college and it brought back good memories and would keep the rain off. Most of the buttons were gone so he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets to hold it closed, as he searched for Vega in the jumbled maze of squalid, makeshift dwellings spread out under the freeway.

It was getting dark and the rain had intensified, although he was somewhat protected by the freeway overhead. The area he was now searching was gritty, crammed with a collection of large packing boxes and broken pallets formed into makeshift cubby holes covered in filthy blankets or plastic tarps, odd possessions piled into shopping carts and protected by surly dogs of uncertain breeds. He'd been trying to find Vega for the last four hours without any luck at all. As he searched, he'd slowly begun to adapt some of the mannerisms and peculiar traits of the people he saw, speaking more slowly, slumping and shuffling as he walked. He'd even dropped down by a mud puddle to dirty his fingernails and rub some of the dirty water over his face and neck. He wanted no undue attention or to make the men he was questioning suspicious. He had been on the streets at various times when he was a teenager, and he knew the fear that existed out here. The majority of these people distrusted almost everyone except a very few and getting them to help him find Vega was a long shot, but he had to try.

The group of men he now approached had gathered around an old metal drum, trying to get a fire started, and they did not look friendly. None of them would look him directly in the eye, casting furtive glances occasionally instead as they distanced themselves.

"Hey. I'm looking for a buddy named Vega," he mumbled as he warmed his hands at the struggling fire. "Any of you seen him around?"

"Why you asking?" A bearded man with almost black teeth asked.

"Lost track of him after the riots," he answered, staring fixedly into the fire.

"Don't know nobody named Vega. Don't know you either, so shove off," Growled an old Latino wearing a foul smelling coat.

"He used to be a medic," Deeks tried once again. "He's built, you know. Has tats on his arms and a crooked nose."

"We call him Amigo," a low voice coming from behind him. "He patches people up when they need it. Didn't know he was a medic though."

"Do you know where I can find him?" Deeks asked as he turned to face the man.

"You a friend or you lookin' for him for some other reason?"

The man was black with one arm and a head full of dreadlocks. He held a wicked looking homemade knife in his hand, moving it slowly from side to side as he waited for an answer. Deeks put his hands out, hoping to placate the man, flashing a quick grin to show he was friendly.

"Come on, man. He's a friend," Deeks said. "He helped me during the riots. Got hurt and he fixed me up."

"How'd you get hurt?" The man asked with a gravely voice.

"Got pieces of glass in my leg when a car exploded," Deeks said, taking a step back as the men began to surround him.

"Careful Charlie, he won't go down easily," Vega called out as he stepped from behind a stack of wooden crates. "You carrying Deeks?"

"Of course, brother," he answered calmly, and the men moved away from him.

"What the hell you doin' here, amigo?" Vega asked. "Thought you'd be in jail."

"Got a pass," he said.

"Glad to hear it, man," Vega said as he held out his hand to Deeks and then pulled him in for a quick hug. "Now what the hell are you doin' down here looking like this?"

"I came to offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet," Deeks said quietly, holding the other man's gaze.

"Fuck, amigo. You don't have to do that," Vega said as he turned and began to walk away.

Deeks quickly caught up and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"It's just a couch, brother, but it's warm and quiet and I'm one hell of a cook."

"You called me an asshole," Vega said with a grin.

"You are an asshole, but I got room and you gotta admit it beats the hell out of living under a freeway."

"You haven't seen my place."

"Seriously?" Deeks said with a crooked grin. "Should I call Martha Stewart? She might want to feature it in her magazine."

"I don't know what to say, Deeks," Vega said as he stared at the ground.

"Tell me I can call you Orlando," Deeks laughed.

"How do you know that name?"

"You sent a note to the LAPD," he answered. "The Deputy Chief told me."

"Fuck, dude," Vega said. "Don't ever call me that. My mother's the only one who ever called me that."

"Orlando," Deeks drew out the word, emphasizing each syllable as he dodged a punch. "Orlando, Orlando, Orlando."

"How old are you, man?"

"Well, Orlando..."

The punch connected this time and Deeks stumbled and fell on his butt, laughing as Vega offered him a hand up, but with a serious warning on his face. Deeks nodded as he rubbed his arm and followed the man to go pick up his things, both sniping at each other as they walked back through the sad encampment of lost souls.

...

...


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

...

_This chapter rated M, so be warned._

_..._

The first time he called she hung up on him. The second time, she called him a couple of choice names before abruptly ending the call, but on his third try she didn't say anything and he rushed to explain why he hadn't answered any of her calls and why it had taken over a two weeks to finally respond. He used every cute nickname he could think of to sweeten his words and make her believe that he truly wanted to see her again. She finally agreed, but he knew she had been hurt by his actions and he very much wanted to make it up to her, recalling her sensuous body and how easy she was to be with. When he finished writing down her address and ended the call, he looked up to see Vega staring at him with a small grin on his face.

"You're a real piece of work, Deeks," he said. "She's hot, dude. Nice."

"She takes my mind off things," he answered.

"I bet she does."

"You got a girl, man?" Deeks asked as he scraped the remains of breakfast into the trash.

"Did once," he said, hesitating before answering. "Tough to get a date when you're living under a freeway."

"Of course," Deeks looked cautiously at the man as he cleaned the table. "Sorry."

"You apologize a lot, you know that?" There was an edge to his voice and Deeks looked up quickly at him. "Quit it."

Deeks had been noticing how short tempered Vega had been recently and he knew the tell tale signs of someone missing the need for alcohol. He hadn't seen him take a drink in the week he'd been living with him, and he wondered how long he would last before he succumbed to the craving. He had taken him to a couple of AA meetings, but he'd been antsy there and angry afterwards, never speaking to anyone and wanting to be alone when they got back to his apartment.

"I'd apologize for saying sorry, but I don't want to piss you off," Deeks said offhandedly with a crooked grin, hoping to ease the sudden tension.

"I had a girl back home," Vega said as he slumped into a chair. "Her family owned orchards."

"Where's home?"

"Gustine," Vega laughed. "Never heard of it have you? Little town in the San Joaquin Valley off Interstate 5. Not much there except orchards and dairy cows. More cows than people when I was growing up. Close to Santa Cruz though. Good surfin'."

"You surf?" Deeks brightened at the information, having had no one to surf with in a while.

"I did. Not since I got back from Iraq," Vega snorted as he stood. "Seems kinda frivolous now."

"Not if it helps you cope with things," Deeks said.

"You're a naïve sonofabitch sometimes," Vega snapped.

"Bullshit," Deeks bristled at the comment, turning to face the man.

"Why you doing this, man?" Vega asked, standing quickly and aggressively stepping up to him. "Helping the downtrodden ex-soldier get on his feet make you feel good? Huh?"

"You're full of shit, brother," Deeks said.

"I'm not your brother, asshole," he sneered and then grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, slamming it behind him as he left.

"Dammit."

Deeks was shaken by the exchanged, wondering if he wasn't as naïve as the man had accused him of being. Why he thought getting him off the streets would change him, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't turn his back on him, not after what they had been through together. He'd tried to get him to talk about his experience in Iraq a couple of nights ago, but Vega had just stared at him silently until he backed off. He understood that, never wanting to talk about Vernon's death unless pushed by Maggie. He worried that Vega wouldn't return, but if he did, he was set on getting him to the beach. There was solace there. At least there was for him. Getting Vega out on a board might be just the thing the man needed. He sure as hell hoped so, but questions lingered over his own need to help the veteran, and he wondered if he was fooling himself into believing the man could change.

A flitting image of his father made him pause. It was one of the memories he couldn't rid himself of whenever he thought of his dad. He had been maybe six or seven when his dad had stumbled home dead drunk demanding something to eat and his mother had heated up some leftover beans. At that age, he'd still longed to be noticed by his dad, not as wary of him drunk as he would be later. He had brought a bowl over and sat down next to him, smiling tentatively as they ate together, watching him take in sloppy mouthfuls of the steaming beans until his father noticed. He still remembered how he smelled, the powerful odor of whiskey making his head swim a little and his eyes water. His dad hardly ever touched him gently, so when he'd reached for him he'd flinched, but his dad simply ran his calloused fingers through his long hair, finally patting him roughly on the head as his eyes blinked slowly. He still remembered how thrilled he had felt at that moment, acknowledged like that by his father, and the simple joy of watching him as he worked on a plate of beans. His mother tried to pull him away, but he resisted, whining that he wanted to stay and his dad had cussed at her to leave them alone, shoving her away. It had made him feel special to be alone with his father even if it was at his mother's expense. He still felt guilty about that.

His father's breathing had eventually become heavy as he leaned over the remaining soupy leftovers, his head drooping lower and lower making him concerned with how close he was to the plate. He had reached out and shaken his dad's arm, making him aware and he had looked at him with bleary, bloodshot eyes and then backhanded him across the cheek, sending him sprawling on the linoleum floor. He'd ended up leaning against the stove, scared out of his mind and frozen in place as he'd watched his dad hunch once again over his dinner. He didn't move until his dad's face fell in the beans, his own tears coming silently from the shock of it all. He got a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he recalled that night, the empty sadness he'd felt then and the still fresh feeling of embarrassment at seeing his father passed out in a plate of beans.

"Sonofabitch."

He hated that memory, his mind reaching out to Vega, hoping the man would never sink that low. He shook himself and got up, needing distance from the dark memories and questioning if he truly wanted to help the vet or was just trying to assuage some of the intensity of his own pain. He'd remembered his mother telling him more than once that she'd always thought she could change his father when he'd first started drinking, but her voice was always abjectly sad when she said it, her face weary with regret as if she was somehow to blame.

He was grateful when the phone rang and grateful when Nika told him to come to her apartment right that minute, telling him she wanted to kiss his ass and making him laugh, sending his depressing memories into the back of his mind. He needed her. He needed the distraction of being with her, welcoming his body's response to the image of their lovemaking now overtaking his mind, obliterating the darkness of the past.

...

Nika lived in a building just off the seedy end of Melrose and looked in need of a paint job and a few repairs, but the inside of her apartment was clean and remarkably neat. The walls were dark as were the few pieces of furniture, which looked to be from the fifties, giving the place a retro feel. She had pulled him inside as soon as she'd opened the door, giggling before kissing him warmly in welcome, already tearing at his clothes, pushing up his long sleeved tee, her hands moving over his bare chest and then around his back.

"Hey, Sweet Buns. Slow down," he said as he tried to control her urgency.

She stopped and stepped back, pouting at him, her dark eyes bright and he knew she was high.

"Want some X? It's new. It's laced with something good," she whispered. "Come on. I missed you."

"No drugs, baby," he cautioned. "Not any more."

"More for me, then," she giggled.

She was dressed in a short, dark purple tank top that hung loosely off one shoulder, her bare nipples prominent as they pushed against the thin fabric. Her skirt was long and black, and she stared at him as she undid the drawstring that held it up, letting it fall into a puddle at her feet. She wore nothing but a thong underneath and he felt a thrill course through his groin as he hardened at the sight of her.

"You want me," she stated, her pink tongue darting out as she stepped toward him.

He licked his lips as he reached for her, catching her arms above the elbows and pulling her into his body, which was now pulsing with want. As he wrapped an arm around her back, she arched over it, leaning back to offer her breasts, giggling as he pulled her tank top down, squeezing her breast as he took her nipple into his mouth, groaning softly as his tongue moved. His other hand found her ass, grasping it and moving her body against his growing lust. Her hands were under his shirt now, her fingers clawing and moving rhythmically over his back. He picked her up, carrying her to the stark leather couch, sitting her down as he dropped to his knees, his hands clasping her ass and then pulling the thong away as his mouth sought the heat between her legs. Her ecstatic cries as she came made him laugh and he leaned back to look at her, lightly touching the tips of her rigid nipples and panting as he watched her tremble. He stroked her throat and down between her breasts, running his tongue slowly around each nipple in turn until he was close to jacking off in his pants. She must have sensed it, sliding out from under him and pushing him onto the couch, quickly unzipping him as he yanked off his shirt. He stretched out on the cool leather as she slowly slid his pants off, taking his shoes and socks with them. He watched her with turbulent eyes as she came up between his legs, her hands running up his bare thighs, massaging as she went, taking her time as she crawled up his body. Her tongue and mouth performed magic and he couldn't suppress a loud moan as he went over the edge, the slickness easing her way up his chest. She stared down at him with over bright eyes, kissing him softly as she entangled her fingers in his hair.

"Turn over," she whispered.

"You can't get my ass out of your mind, can you, Cupcake?" he smirked.

"Shut up. You're my sex toy," she said quite seriously, making him laugh out loud before he turned over.

She nibbled the back of his neck as her hands roamed through his hair. He had his arms stretched out over his head and she ran her hands down into his armpits as she slid down his body, kissing her way down his spine. He swallowed hard and felt himself begin to relax as she massaged the tight muscles in his back. When she reached the small of his back, he laughed lightly at the tickling sensation her tongue made as it trailed down to the end of his spine. She pressed her breasts against him and trailed her fingers down his back, her warm mouth moving over his ass, her tongue making languid circles, her small bites exciting him once again.

"Your body is so beautiful," she said quietly.

He turned over and pulled her down on top of him, holding her tiny waist as they moved in rhythm, the heat building until she cried out and leaned back against his bent knees as he panted out his own orgasm. She laughed and collapsed against his chest, breathing easily as she tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her legs around his, clinging to him as she eased toward sleep. He stroked her arm and held her close, his hand caressing her ass as she slept. It had been quite awhile since he had been with one woman for a long period of time, usually just having a brief explosive sexual encounter and then parting ways. It was easier. Less emotional entanglements. He had shied away from deep relationships, wary of where they might lead, afraid of the expectations and their consequences. But he felt an odd fondness for Nika, and he wanted to stay with her for a while and get to know her, if she let him.

He'd often wondered if his parents had ever really loved each other, and if they had, what was it that caused that love to wither, replaced by anger, recrimination and violence. When he was a child, he thought he was the one to blame for their arguments and he still held onto some of that guilt, and their pain had kept him guarded throughout his life, not wanting to be hurt or to hurt anyone else. Love was not necessarily the answer in life. There were other ways to be happy and being with Nika made him happy and he knew neither one wanted to complicate things by adding love to the mix.

...

He was dead tired when he got home, still marveling at Nika's insatiable appetite for sex and upset with her need for the drugs that enhanced her experience. He had gotten angry with her after she insisted he do them with her, his refusal making her pout and storm around briefly, but she simply popped another pill before he could stop her. He had yelled at her and tried to dress to leave, but she'd begged him to stay, softening his anger with whispered suggestive comments as she stroked him, exciting him as she always did, and his resolve had crumbled as her body writhed against him. He couldn't resist her, couldn't turn away when she opened her legs to him and began to touch herself. He had exploded with want and a deep desire to have her and she gave him instant gratification. Now he questioned himself, realizing they were using each other, but unable to deny that he was okay with that. He worried about her drug use, but the temptation of her body and what she did to him had him rationalizing that the drugs weren't addictive, so she wasn't being hurt by them. His reasoning sounded weak now that he was out of her presence and he began to silently berate himself for his own weakness.

He had done his share of drugs in college, always more wary of hard alcohol than the recreational drugs available at every party. He had stayed away from any drug that made him lose complete control, but the stresses of college and how to pay for it had led him to give in occasionally to those that relaxed him. Now he found himself in a relationship with a woman he cared about who thought nothing of popping the latest pill-of-the-month, something he couldn't do if he wanted to keep his job. When he was cleared for duty, he knew they would be constantly testing him, making sure that he kept his word that his days of doing any kind of drug was over, that he was committed to being the best cop he could be and one that followed the rules. And he was committed to doing that, his mind flashing back to Vernon's support and counsel about what it took to be a good cop. The man had been a real straight arrow, cool, but always by the book and he wished he could talk to him about Nika and her drug use. He was fairly sure what he would say, but when he was with her, all his reason went out the window.

The people in his life at the moment were both users, Nika with ecstasy and Vega fighting his need to drown his pain in whiskey. He wanted to help them both, but how to do that would have to wait for another day. He was exhausted, and on Monday he would be reporting to a new division and a new commanding officer, having to prove he was fit for duty. He needed to get back to work, to concentrate on something other than his current situation. Tomorrow morning he was going to haul Vega to the beach and kick his ass until he got up on a board and rode a couple of waves. But right now, he needed a shower and a good night's sleep.

The sound of the front door crashing open ended all thoughts of a hot shower and he quickly grabbed his service weapon from the nightstand, moving quickly and silently into his darkened living room. A sharp, angry curse followed the sound of a breaking lamp and he switched on the overhead light to find Vega stumbling toward the kitchen. He could smell the whiskey on him from across the room and he slowly lowered his gun and leaned heavily against the doorframe, saddened by the disheveled state the man was in.

"Hey, amigo," the slurred words close to unintelligible.

The only thing holding him up was the kitchen counter he was clinging to. His jacket was ripped and he held a bloody hand to his mouth, one eye already turning black. Deeks returned to the bedroom and locked up his weapon before wetting a washcloth and grabbing a bottle of aspirin. When he got back to the front room, Vega had managed to make it to one of the chairs, moaning as he held his ribs. Deeks sat on the coffee table and cleaned him up as best he could, the man swiping at his hand as he worked, cursing he assumed, although the words were difficult to understand. He drew him a glass of water and forced him to take the pills, cussing when Vega knocked the glass from his hand.

"I'm only trying to help, man," Deeks finally said.

"Don't need your fuckin' help," he yelled in his face, struggling to get to his feet.

"You need to sleep it off," Deeks said as he helped him up.

"You don't know shit, Deeks," he mumbled, shoving him away and almost falling as he did.

"What's to know, asshole? You got stinkin' drunk and picked a fight, hopefully with just one guy," he snapped back.

"Three," he smiled and held up two fingers.

"Go to sleep, Vega," he said wearily. "We can talk in the morning."

"Talk?"

"Yeah, talk."

"Fuck you. Don't wanna hear it," Vega croaked out as he stumbled for the door. "Leavin'."

"No you're not," Deeks said as he caught his arm to stop him.

He was surprised at how much power there was behind the punch, considering how drunk Vega was, but he ended up on his backside anyway, with the taste of blood in his mouth. When he got to his feet Vega charged him, which he sidestepped easily, tripping him as his temper flared.

"Stop it, brother," he said softly as Vega lay on the floor.

"Call me that again and I'll kill you," Vega's voice was suddenly very clear and very angry.

He scrambled to his feet and advanced slowly toward him, the look on his face one of concentrated fury. Deeks took a step back, his arms held wide as the man stalked him with unfocused eyes, but stoic determination.

"I don't want to fight you," Deeks said softly.

"Fight or die."

"You don't mean that," Deeks said with a hint of surprise at the threat.

The man in front of him smiled, his nostrils flaring as he bull rushed him. Deeks almost managed to evade him, but a heavily muscled forearm caught him in the throat and slammed him against the front door. Bright pin points of light flashed as he struggled to stay conscious, fighting as Vega's hands closed around his throat, choking him down to the floor. He hit him a few times in the ribs, but he was slowly losing consciousness and his punches were ineffective as the world started to go gray. He fell back on instinct and the moves he had learned on the streets, clawing at Vega's eyes and nose until he felt his grip loosen. He pushed up, trying to get him off, but the man was too strong, forcing him down again, his face full of rage.

"Vega," he choked out. "Stop."

It was the last thing he remembered, going limp as the world spun into darkness.

The feel of a cold wet cloth on his face brought him back and he came awake fighting and coughing up blood. He struck out blindly, but someone grabbed his arms and pushed him down and he opened his eyes at Vega's sorrowful words.

"I'm sorry, amigo," he whispered, holding his face in his hands as he hovered over him. "Forgive me, man. Forgive me."

"Get the fuck out," Deeks gasped, turning on his side as a coughing fit took him.

He fought to get free of the man's body and the old familiar smell of whiskey, kicking and crawling away until Vega fell onto the floor beside him. Deeks shook as he fought to catch his breath, spitting out blood and heaving as he sucked in air. Caustic memories and the feeling of blind panic he'd lived with as a child flooded in. He was furious at being plunged back into that and wanted nothing more than to be free of it and the man crying beside him.

"I didn't mean it," Vega mumbled.

"Where have I heard that before," Deeks whispered as he pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall.

"You okay?" Vega asked, his voice choked with tears. "Did I hurt you?"

Deeks' laugh was short and hollow, his mind reeling with all the times he'd heard those words from the man who should have loved him.

"My dad used to ask me that early on," he finally managed to say. "He said he didn't mean it either, but he sure as hell kept doing it."

"God, Deeks. I didn't know," Vega said.

"I don't give a fuck," he said roughly as he ran his hands over his face. "You want to drink yourself into oblivion over something that happened to you, go ahead. I won't try to change your mind. I should know better than anyone that words mean nothing to a drunk. Now, get out. I'm done, man."

Deeks struggled to his feet and stepped over Vega, ignoring his apologies and his plea for forgiveness. He looked longingly at the shower, but had no energy left, tumbling onto his bed with a roaring headache and a chest tight with simmering anger. Sleep came quickly, but his dreams were filled with old reflections from his past and he woke in a sweat, listening for approaching footsteps that stumbled in the dark. He lay still, panting out the remains of his remembered fear and fighting the depression that always followed, until he heard the front door close. He let fatigue pull him away from his troubled thoughts of failure, finally closing his eyes against the demons that still haunted him.

...

Even though he felt like shit and his throat was raw, he was determined to spend the morning on the waves. He needed the respite from his regret at having kicked Vega out. He was a good man, but last night he was different. Last night he saw how far the man had fallen. Last night he felt as if he'd gone back in time, wishing that good part of the man in front of him would understand what was happening to him and the pain it caused. But, just like his childhood hopes for his father, his wishes had turned into wisps of empty words, not strong enough to make a man see. He should have known, but berating himself did nothing and sure as hell didn't make him feel any better, so he threw himself on his board and pushed out into the crashing, cold gray waves, looking for relief and needed solitude, wanting to simply forget.

The retreating storm from yesterday had left powerful waves in its wake, but he persisted in his need to ride them. Fighting them let him rid himself of the remaining anger he still carried, leaving him wondering why he cared about a man he'd just met who had choked him out in his own living room. The third set of waves were big and turbulent, but he gathered his remaining strength and caught the largest breaker, dropping down inside the barrel of the wave as it roared toward the beach. He cut up toward the crest, but miscalculated the curl and it flipped him up and he wiped out dramatically, hitting the hard surface of the swirling gray water and dragged under and tumbled toward shore, fighting to hold his breath as he struggled to break on top. He slammed into the bottom, taking in a mouthful of salt water, choking on it as the first hint of panic rushed through him. He kicked off the bottom and finally broke the surface of the water, gasping for air and fighting the white water as he stumbled to get his feet under him. He felt strong arms grab him, helping him up and out of the water, the roaring sound of the waves welcome after the hollow silence underwater. He collapsed face down on the wet sand, coughing water out of his sore throat, thankful to be on solid ground.

"Take a couple of breaths, amigo," the soft familiar voice surprising him.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying to make amends, man," Vega replied as he dropped onto the wet sand beside him. "Pretty wild wipeout, dude. Thought you said you were a great surfer?"

"How'd you find me?"

"You told me this was one of your favorite spots," he answered as he stared out at the breaking waves. "I tried 'em all."

"What do you want?" Deeks asked.

"You said we'd talk."

"And you choked me out for it."

"You got a pretty good scrape on your shoulder," Vega said as if it was the proper answer. "That wave was massive, man. Roughed you up pretty bad. Lucky your board didn't knock you out."

Deeks took a couple of deep breaths and unclipped his board leash before he struggled to his feet, pushing Vega's hand away as he tried to help. He dragged his board over to his stuff and buried his face in a beach towel, refusing to acknowledge Vega's presence.

"Deeks?" He said quietly. "I wasn't lying when I said I was sorry. You'll never know how much. I know I hurt you, but that ain't me."

"It is now," Deeks said roughly as he hefted his board and started up the beach.

"I'm tryin', man," Vega pleaded.

"You could have killed me last night," Deeks stopped and turned to face him. "Is that the man you want to be? You keep going and one of these nights you won't be able to stop yourself. You'll get pissed off at someone like you did last night and you'll kill him. That's who you are when you drink, man. You wanted to kill me. I don't know why and maybe you don't either, but that doesn't make any difference, because it's only going to get worse."

"Maybe I can stop," Vega mumbled.

"No you can't. Not by yourself. Not without help," Deeks said wearily. "But if you keep lying to yourself, you'll never overcome it, man. You have to want it. You have to do it for yourself. You need help, buddy."

"I don't deserve help," Vega whispered. "I already killed somebody, Deeks, and they gave me a medal for it. How do I live with that kind of bullshit? I shot a twelve-year-old boy because I thought he was placing an IED. I held him in my arms and watched him die. How do I live with that, man?"

Deeks was stunned, unable to respond to such a revelation. Tears streamed down Vega's face as he dropped to his knees in the cold sand and Deeks sat down next to him.

"When you went limp under my hands last night it scared the shit out of me," Vega choke out. "You helped me and I almost killed you. You're a cop. Arrest me, amigo. Arrest me before I do something worse than I've already done."

"Come on, man," Deeks said. "Let's go get a cup of coffee. I know someone you can talk to. She'll know what to do and you won't have to go to jail."

"Why can't you just arrest me, dude?"

"Because you're a friend."

...

...


	11. Chapter 11

**The Collector**

_Chapter 11_

...

He slowly squeezed the trigger for the final time, infinitely pleased when the bullet hit dead center in the black target's heart. He wanted to re-qualify on his first try and couldn't stifle a crooked grin when he turned to face the sergeant overseeing him. The man smirked at his cockiness, shaking his head as he motioned for Deeks to stand aside as the target zipped down the line toward them. He quickly removed his earmuffs and protective glasses and looked over the officer's shoulder at the perfect grouping, center mass.

"Bullseye," Deeks said proudly.

"Lieutenant Bates said you were full of yourself," the sergeant said as he noted the score on his report.

"Just looking forward to getting back on the job," Deeks answered seriously, his words coming out softly as he reflected on all the changes in his life.

"He wants to see you, so get on up to his office," the man ordered as he walked off.

"Where is it?"

The sergeant ignored his question, simply laughing as he left, leaving Deeks on his own. He turned back to his weapon and swapped out the empty clip with a fully loaded one and looked down the line as others continued firing, the noise deafening now that his ear protection was off. When someone laid a hand on his shoulder, he tensed and spun around to confront whomever it was, his heart suddenly racing.

"Whoa, hotshot," said an officer with intense hazel eyes and just a hint of a smile. "Didn't mean to make you jumpy."

"What can I do for you?" Deeks asked as he took a step back.

"What'd you score?"

"Why?" Deeks said as he brushed past him and walked out into the quiet of the hall.

"Why not?" He shot back as he followed him out. "You trying to re-qualify isn't a big secret you know."

"So you go in for gossip?" Deeks asked as he turned to face him, angry all of a sudden.

"Is there some good stuff I need to know?" He laughed. "You datin' some famous starlet or something? Cause I would love to have some juicy new stories to pass around at my next little gossip session with the guys."

"Who the hell are you?" Deeks asked.

"Mick Rafferty," he answered. "And you're Marty Deeks."

"How do you know my name?" Deeks challenged, suspicious of his interest.

"You just received the Life Saving Medal, man. We tend to pay attention to guys who did what you did," Rafferty replied easily. "And yeah, I've heard the rumors about your partner's death. And no, I don't believe everything I hear."

"What are they saying around here?" He asked, blowing out his breath as he looked away.

"That you killed the two fuckin' bastards who did it," Rafferty said quietly.

"Yeah."

"So now will you tell me if you're qualified to carry an official police weapon?" He asked with a short laugh.

"Unless my psychologist rats me out," Deeks replied with a crooked grin.

"Shit. You're not fuckin' crazy are ya?" Rafferty asked, raising his eyebrows. "Cause crazy people scare me. My grandmother was crazier than a barrel full of monkeys. Used to chase me around the backyard with a willow switch. She's the reason I'm such a fast runner."

Deeks laughed out loud, all his tension suddenly gone. He noticed the hint of mischief in the other man's eyes and he thought he might have found a friend.

"Can you tell me where to find Lieutenant Bates' office?" He asked.

"I'll show you, lad," he said as he strode off down the hall. "He's a gruff one, but fair."

"Are you from Ireland? Thought I heard a slight accent," Deeks questioned.

"Born there. So, dual citizenship. Lived there till I was eight, then my dad, who's American, brought us back here to his family's home," he said as he guided Deeks through the halls of the division.

"What was he doing in Ireland," Deeks asked.

"Diplomatic Service. At least that's what he said," Rafferty winked. "My sisters and I always joked that he was a spy. Much sexier than a paper shuffler."

"So your mom's Irish?" Deeks was warming to the man the more they talked.

"Northern Donegal, born and bred," he laughed. "Granny too. The crazy one. She grew up on Tory Island, the wildest place in Ireland. No cops there, just lots of drinkin' and craic."

"Did you say crack? As in cocaine?" Deeks stopped and asked.

"Nah. It's a Gaelic word. Sounds the same, but different spelling and different meanin'," Rafferty explained. "It just means havin' fun. Tory's where we go to have a good time when we visit my relatives."

"How come you never followed your father into the diplomatic service?" Deeks asked.

"You're a good interrogator," Rafferty said. "When do I get to ask you questions?"

"Maybe over a beer later," Deeks said as he stopped in front of Lieutenant Bates office and knocked.

"Sounds like a plan," Rafferty said as he followed Deeks into Bates office.

"Looks like you're cleared for duty, Deeks," Bates said as Deeks stood silently in front of him. "Maggie signed off on your psych eval and you impressed the hell out of Sergeant Rojas at the shooting range, but I'm guessing he didn't tell you that."

"No sir."

"See you've met your new partner," Bates said with a smug smile. "Thought you two might hit it off."

"You knew?" Deeks turned to stared at Rafferty.

"Easier to get a sense of someone when they're not standing in front of a superior officer," he said. "That okay with you, or are you pissed again?"

"You pissed him off already, Rafferty?" Bates growled.

"Natural talent I guess, sir," Rafferty said as he turned toward the door. "I've got some paperwork to finish Deeks, but I'll meet you at O'Malley's at six. Thanks for the new partner, Lieutenant."

"Don't piss this one off like you did the last one," Bates said loudly as the door closed.

"What happened with his last partner?" Deeks asked with a sense of foreboding.

"Rafferty accused him of taking a bribe," Bates said. "IA couldn't prove it, but Rafferty wouldn't work with him after that, so now he has you. He's a good cop, kid. A stickler for regulations, two years of experience, and a wiseass just like you. I figured you'd cancel each other out."

"Thanks for taking me on, Lieutenant," Deeks said softly. "I know you didn't have to."

"So, do good by me, kid," Bates said, his eyes boring into him. "You're still being watched and now, so am I. Don't fuck up."

"No sir."

"Have the sergeant outside take you down to admin. They've got paperwork for you to sign," Bates instructed.

"Yes sir," Deeks quickly turning for the door.

"Officer Deeks?"

"Sir?"

"It's good to have you, kid."

Deeks nodded, the newness of it all dropping away with the kind word. He liked Mick Rafferty, but the thought of working with someone besides Vernon made him sad and reflective. It wouldn't be the same, but he couldn't deny he was looking forward to working again. He had a feeling he would be the one being grilled by his new partner tonight, knowing there was more to the man than what he had shown so far.

...

O'Malley's was a grungy, rather run-down pseudo Irish pub a few blocks from the station, so he was surprised to find it crowded, but not especially loud. There were multi-colored rugby flags hanging over the oak back bar and tattered Guinness posters tacked to the walls that looked to have been there awhile. He wedged his way past a couple of guys he made as cops, but there were some businessmen in suits and a few groups of laughing women being eyed by the guys at the bar. He spotted Rafferty leaning over a booth in the back telling a story that he apparently thought was quite funny, his laugh easily rising above the low din of the place. Deeks hesitated and then made a decision, taking up a position by a shelf on the back side of a square wooden column, effectively hiding himself from being seen by his new partner. He wanted time to watch him, assess him from afar as Rafferty had done at the shooting range. He wasn't sure why he was being so cautious, feeling slightly distrustful of a man who seemed so easygoing on the surface, but it was in his nature to be somewhat guarded around new people and he continued his surveillance.

The man had a good head of light brown hair, cut short on the sides, slightly long on top, but pushed away from his forehead, revealing a small scar. His hazel eyes were expressive under thick eyebrows, and his long nose dominated his face. He had a firm jawline and now that he was wearing a t-shirt, Deeks could see strong muscles ripple along his forearms as he gestured to make a point. He was shorter than he was, but he looked to be in great shape, no extra pounds that he could see, a hard stomach and a solid chest that indicated he worked out a lot.

Deeks watched and listened, smiling occasionally at some of the man's funny comments, until he began to feel slightly foolish for hiding from him. He was going to be partners with the man whether he liked it or not. As he moved to join him, a large man, slightly unsteady on his feet, approached Rafferty from behind, and Deeks tensed when he saw that he had a side arm under his jacket. On instinct, he moved quickly, winding through the crowd until he was close to his partner if he needed him.

"You fuckin' Irish dick," the harsh words halting most nearby conversations.

Rafferty turned to face him, any hint of laughter gone, his eyes wary and his jaw tight. His expression held obvious distaste, and his body language showed he was ready for a fight as was Deeks.

"What do you want, Purcell," Rafferty asked.

"IA pulled me in again," the man growled.

"What does that have to do with me?" Rafferty asked, acknowledging Deeks for the first time and nodding.

"What lie did you tell them this time, you fuck?" Purcell demanded.

"I didn't talk to them at all, now piss off," he replied coldly and turned away.

The powerful punch came without warning and landed solidly, just below Rafferty's back ribs, sending him onto the table in the booth. Before the man could follow it up, Deeks was on him, shoving him hard into one of the columns, telling him to calm down as he pressed a forearm into his chest. Purcell sneered at the interruption, slugging Deeks in the side of the face, knocking him off balance and making him mad. As the man started back toward his new partner, Deeks tackled him to the floor, landing a couple of punches that stunned him. He would have landed more, but someone pulled him off and held his arms, while a couple of the off-duty cops he'd noticed earlier pulled Purcell to his feet.

"Meet my new partner, Marty Deeks," Rafferty said, releasing Deeks' arms and putting a strong hand on his shoulder, firmly holding him in place.

"Figures they'd team you two up," Purcell said roughly. "Maybe he'll get you killed like he did his last partner."

Deeks blinked hard and started to rush him, but Rafferty wrapped an arm around his chest and held him back.

"This thick bastard's not even close to being worth it," he said in his ear.

Deeks saw the looks and he pulled free of Rafferty as the off-duty cops manhandled Purcell out the front door. He wanted out of there, out of the spotlight now shining so brightly down on him, and he turned quickly to leave.

"I owe you a beer, you know," Rafferty yelled out to him as he made it halfway to the door. "You wouldn't want to insult me on our first day, now would ya? Or don't you have a taste for Guinness?"

He stopped at an empty place at the bar as his new partner came up behind him and the patrons went back to their conversations. The side of his head was burning where Purcell had hit him and his eye was starting to swell, but he turned to look at Rafferty who was holding out a bar towel filled with ice.

"You'll have an impressive black eye by mornin'," he told him.

"How are the ribs?" Flinching as he pressed the icy compress to his face.

"Shoulda never turned my back on that sonofabitch," he said as he pulled his shirt up to have a look.

"Why did you?"

"Cause he's uglier than shit," Rafferty laughed. "My wife's gonna kick my butt worse though."

"You're married?"

"Why's that so shockin'?" He asked with a puzzled look. "I'm pretty damned handsome. Never had trouble gettin' a girl. Bet you don't either."

"I do all right," Deeks said with a crooked grin.

"You don't seem like the standoffish kind," Rafferty said as he slid a pint of Guinness over to him. "I saw you come in. Why didn't you come over?"

"No reason," Deeks said, trying to hide his surprise that he'd been spotted.

"You lie to your last partner?" He asked, draining half his glass of beer as he stared at him.

"It's easier to get a sense of someone when they don't know you're watching," Deeks grinned at throwing part of his partner's earlier comment back at him.

"But in this case, I knew you were watchin'," Rafferty laughed.

"Show off," Deeks said as he tentatively sipped at the dark liquid in his glass.

"That's pathetic," Rafferty said as he watched. "You're not much of a drinker are ya?"

"This stuff is like drinking wheat," Deeks said with a grimace.

"It's barley," he responded with a disgusted look on his face, and turned to address the bartender. "I'm gonna have to put in for another new partner, Conor. The lieutenant stuck me with a man who has no idea what a good beer should taste like. How am I supposed to work with this lad?"

"He did have your back in the fight, Mick," the bartender replied. "Took a punch for you. He might not be too bad."

"True," Rafferty looked back at Deeks, his face scrunched in concentration. "Isabel will like him. He's cute. She likes cute."

"You done?" Deeks asked.

"Try this one, man," the bartender said. "Smithwick's Irish Red Ale. Leave the black beer to the Irish lads."

"Aren't you Irish?" Deeks said as he gladly pushed the Guinness aside.

"Born in San Bernardino," he laughed as he headed down the bar. "Native Californian. Mom had a thing for Irish names."

"Thanks for havin' my back, Marty," Rafferty said quietly when they were alone.

"I learned from the best," he replied.

"Not everybody believes that shit Purcell was sayin'," Rafferty said. "And there's something you should know. Bates thought I should see what you went through, so he showed me the video."

Deeks hunched over the bar, his stomach suddenly roiling, feeling exposed and unsure what to say. He thought of that final moment with Vernon as private, an intimate experience so personal that the thought of others watching was like an intrusion deep within his soul. Rafferty laid a hand on his shoulder for a couple of seconds and then walked away, giving him time to process that his new partner had seen him at such a vulnerable time and he wasn't sure how to deal with that. He slowly drained the remains of his beer and pushed away from the bar, pulling out some cash, which Conor waved away. He was almost to the door, when he felt a hand on his back.

"Come on, partner. Isabel made tamales today," Rafferty said as he ushered him out the door.

"You don't have to do that," Deeks said, pulling away as they stopped outside.

"Do what? I can't go home alone and tell her I got sucker punched by my ex-partner," Rafferty said, a hint of pleading in his voice. "I won't hear the end of it unless you come with me."

"So I'm a distraction?" Deeks smirked.

"You're my partner. It's your job," Rafferty said quite seriously.

"Now who's pathetic?"

"She makes great tamales, so you won't be sorry," he said happily as he motioned him down the street to his car.

"Can I call you Mick?" Deeks asked. "Rafferty's a mouthful."

"Now you're makin' fun of my family name?" He questioned.

"No. It's just quicker to yell Mick in a firefight," he answered.

"Was that the first time you fired your weapon on the job?" Rafferty asked as he turned to look at him.

"The second," he answered.

"Well, let's just try and talk our way out of tough situations," he said gently. "I saw that you're pretty good at doin' that from the news footage during the riot."

"You know a hell of a lot more about me than I do about you," Deeks snapped, surprising his new partner.

"Listen, Marty. I don't have any idea what it's like to lose a partner like you did," Rafferty told him. "In two years on the job, I've fired my weapon three times. Never killed anyone like you had to do. But, I do know what it's like to lose someone you care about and what it feels like to be as angry as you are when people presume to know how you feel. I know that feelin, lad. You'll work through it and if I've been out of line, I'm truly sorry. I'm your partner now, and you can kick my ass if it'll make you feel better."

Deeks looked steadily at him, needing to see if he was being honest, needing to know he could count on him, that he didn't have to watch what he said around the man, that he was someone he could trust. He had been so close to Vernon and didn't think he would ever get that close to another partner in his career. He had never expected to lose Vernon. It had never crossed his mind, even though they were in dangerous situations all the time. He didn't know the man in front of him and wasn't ready to trust him just yet. He knew it would take time to adjust and that he should cut the guy some slack, but he still felt wary of him and of his new situation.

"I think I'll pass on kicking your ass tonight, okay?" Deeks finally said. "Maybe I'll try your wife's tamales some other time."

"Got it," Mick Rafferty said softly. "See you Monday."

"Yeah. Monday," he replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets guarding against the chill.

...

Deeks couldn't keep a crooked grin off his face as Vega wiped out for a third time. When he came up for air, Deeks pointed at him, bending over with laughter. Vega shook the water from his hair and made his way up the beach, undoing his leash and charging Deeks, cussing as he tackled him into the sand.

"Quit laughing, amigo," Vega said with a wide grin. "I told you it's been awhile."

"Or never," Deeks shot back as he held his hand out for Vega to help him up.

"You honestly telling me you never wipeout?" Vega chided him. "Cause a month ago I had to help your sorry ass out of a major pounding."

"Yeah, but those waves were gnarly, man," Deeks explained. "These are just foamies."

Vega didn't reply and Deeks looked over, noticing that his smile had disappeared and he was no longer watching the surf, but staring fixedly at the sand between his feet. One thing he'd learned since Vega had been living with him was that the man loved to talk almost as much as he did. He didn't seem to care what the subject was, he would tackle the opposing view, willing to debate into the wee hours of the morning if he was winning, claiming the win even if he hadn't won his point. Deeks told him he should become a lawyer, because he thought he would make a great litigator, but the man had just shaken his head and laughed, looking unsure and vulnerable.

"What's up, buddy?" He asked, trying to still the sudden rush of uncertainty and worry the man's silence had provoked.

"I'm going back home," he replied.

"What? Why?"

"Don't take this personally, amigo, but it's time for me to get away from this place," he said without inflection.

"What about your sessions with Maggie?" Deeks repositioned himself so he could see his face, searching for the emotions he knew were there.

"Come on, man. I'm just a hard luck case she took on as a favor to you," he whispered.

"Bullshit," Deeks said quickly. "She likes you and wants to help."

"She has. More than you know, but there are demons here for me," he answered. "And I need to fight them alone."

"So you're running?"

"I think of it more as escaping," he said after a deep breath.

"From what, man?" Deeks asked. "Talk to me."

"This isn't up for debate, amigo," Vega said firmly, looking intensely into Deeks eyes.

"I didn't say it was, but you know you can talk to me about anything," he told him earnestly.

They sat silently together for some time before Vega got up and began to walk toward the surf, finally stopping at the edge of the retreating foam. Deeks came up beside him, afraid to say anything that might spook him, seeing that he was struggling and hoping he would unburden himself.

"Do you know what friendly fire is?" Vega asked softly, his voice barely heard over the incoming waves. "It's when a person is killed by someone from his own side."

"Shit."

"I told you about the kid I killed, but not about the buddy I shot by mistake at the same time," he confessed as he clasped the back of his head with both hands. "I was scared that the bomb that kid was planting would go off and kill the whole squad, so I fired a burst. I didn't even see Brian on the other side of him. I was so focused on stopping that kid. I didn't see him, man. I didn't even see him."

Vega dropped to his knees in the wet sand and Deeks dropped down next to him, both hands gripping his shoulders as the man broke. His anguish was heartbreaking and Deeks held onto him tightly as his own mind flashed back to Vernon and the chilling pain he'd felt at the sight of his dead friend.

"His family's here," he choked out as he roughly wiped at his tears. "I came to LA to ask their forgiveness."

"What did they say?"

"It took me four months to get up the nerve to go see them," he said. "And two more of just sitting in my car across the street trying to figure out what I could possibly say. I was so fuckin' messed up by that time I was afraid whatever I said would hurt them even more. I never could do it."

"You don't have to tell me, brother," Deeks offered.

"Shit, Deeks. I couldn't even tell Maggie," swearing softly under his breath as he covered his face with both hands. "She knew though. She knew there was more, but I couldn't tell her. Shit, I don't even know why I'm telling you."

"Because I told you how I felt about Vernon's death," Deeks answered quietly.

"Brian was a skinny kid," Vega shared. "Really smart. Wanted to be a Marine Biologist. The guys always gave him a hard time about that for some reason. His mom sent him books all the time and he used to read to us at night. Kept our minds off things you know? Some of us even liked it."

"Did you debate him like you do with me?" Deeks asked with a small smile.

"He was really terrible at it," Vega laughed. "He hated to argue and hated when anyone else did too. Told me his parents fought all the time when he was a kid."

"Know the feeling," Deeks said.

Vega looked up sharply at him, his face softening as he clapped him lightly on the side of the face, nodding at their remembered conversation.

"I finally went to see them two days ago," Vega confessed. "Took me long enough, but I've been sober almost a month and I thought I could handle it. I was wrong."

"What happened?"

"His mother was home alone," he began. "She was happy to see me at first. Showed me his room and all the pictures they had of him. She wanted me to tell her stories about his time over there and that's when it got hard, amigo. Real fuckin' hard."

Vega scrambled to his feet, walking unsteadily into the shadows under the pier, and finally stopping to lean against one of the massive pilings. Deeks followed slowly, wanting to give him time. When he reached him, his face was drawn with sadness.

"I told her what I did, Deeks," he said as he looked out at the swirling waves. "I told her everything and she slapped me. I said I was sorry and she slapped me again and then I just broke down in front of her like a little kid, bawling my eyes out. She hugged me Deeks. She hugged me and forgave me right there in the living room where Brian grew up."

Deeks didn't know what to say as tears streamed from his friend's eyes. He pulled him into a brief hug and Vega clung to him, bringing a shimmer of tears to his own eyes.

"I can go home now," Vega whispered as he released him. "I need to tell my parents. If they accept me, then I'll stay."

"Talk to Maggie," Deeks counseled. "You owe her that."

"I told her I might go home and she gave me the name of a facility in Santa Cruz with a twelve step program," Vega said as he gathered himself. "I would never have made it without you, amigo. I owe you, too."

"Santa Cruz has some wicked waves, dude," Deeks replied, not ready to respond to his comment. "Cold water, but good waves that go on forever. You might even learn to surf there."

"Come for a visit and I'll kick your butt on those waves," Vega laughed softly.

"In your dreams, brother," Deeks said. "In your dreams."

"Thanks for everything, amigo."

"Forgive yourself, Orlando," Deeks whispered.

"Not easy to do, is it?"

"Yeah. No."

...

...


	12. Chapter 12

**The Collector**

_Chapter 12_

...

Hetty wrapped her hands tightly around her second cup of tea, hoping some of its warmth would ease the chill she was feeling. Watching the snow softly falling outside was irritating and ratcheted up her simmering anger and deep concern. She hated being snowed in, it made her feel as if she were suffocating in a cocoon, cut off and isolated and her thoughts turned briefly to the sunny coast of Southern California. She knew the weather wasn't always pleasant there, but she doubted she would ever be forced to remain where she didn't want to be if she lived there full time. She loved this house and Alexandria's old town had always been a refuge from the complexities of her life, a place where she could indulge her passion for antiques and odd collectibles. Her house was on the historic register and she never tired of seeing its warm brick exterior come into view when she returned home after a trying day. It was spacious and quite lovely, the black trim around the multi paned windows suiting her mood, especially today, longing at the moment to be inside the communications center at Langley.

She turned toward the fireplace, the dying flames reflected in the bank of computer screens along the back wall of her study. She wasn't a patient woman, and staring at blank screens wasn't helping her dark mood, so she reached down to touch her favorite antique tea caddy, hoping the feel of the delicately inlaid tortoiseshell surface might calm her. It had been a gift from the man she was currently afraid for, smiling as she recalled the smirk on his face when he'd given it to her. She had accused him of stealing it and he'd laughed, asking in return if she cared, since he had taken it from a dead spy who had no more use for it. Callen had always surprised her as he had then and hopefully would again by not being dead as the current intelligence suggested.

She had watched over him for so long, their connection deep and irrevocable, the kind that brought her unreasonable pain whenever he went missing. He was a chameleon, so adept at disappearing into an alias, and she knew exactly how many times he had survived the worst his line of work could throw at him, but she couldn't shake her current feeling of emptiness. His loss would be a tragedy, a waste of extraordinary talent and it would hurt her more deeply than the loss of any of her other 'lost boys'. Someone had called them that once, even though she had discovered girls as well, and it had stuck in her mind. There had been many over the years, but only a few had gotten under her skin, Callen being one, the daughter of a special ops sniper another and the young cop in Los Angeles. They were all survivors and had a special quality, a vulnerability they wouldn't give into, but that endeared them to her in some way she couldn't explain. She watched them all, checking in on them when she could, secretly interfering in their lives when it was needed as she had with Officer Deeks.

She had felt a certain amount of pride when he'd received the Life Saving Medal from the LAPD, watching the proceedings here in this room from a hacked feed courtesy of Mr. Beale. He looked so young and uncertain when he'd accepted his award and she could almost read his mind as she froze his image on her screen. She saw the remaining sadness, his only smile coming in the aftermath when the people he had rescued surrounded him. She wondered if he even realized how extraordinary his actions had been. She supposed he only believed he was doing his job, and for him going above and beyond was just who he was. He most certainly had a protective streak toward people in trouble and from what Lieutenant Bates had told her he had offered his help to one of the people he'd rescued. That was a quality she could develop and she hoped there would come a time when she could teach him to broaden the scope of that inherent gift to include his country.

The smallest sound of an errant footfall caught her attention and she cautiously set down her cup and quietly slipped open the drawer of the antique cabinet beside her. Her hand found the small loaded revolver she kept there, and she slowly moved into the shadow of the corner and aimed for the doorway. She hated the thought of spilling blood on her favorite Persian carpet, but she rather it not be her own.

"Don't shoot me, Hetty," a muffled voice called out softly.

"You should have called first, Mr. Callen," she answered, lowering her gun and breathing through the relieved smile on her face.

He came in swathed in a long, snow covered coat, smothered in wool scarves wrapped tightly around his head and face, making him nearly unrecognizable, which she assumed was exactly his plan. He limped heavily into the room holding his left arm close to his body.

"Sit down before you fall down, Mr. Callen," she ordered as she moved toward him. "I'll make a fresh pot of tea. Are you hungry?"

"Not sure," he mumbled, still standing by the door.

"How badly are you wounded?" She asked, stopping in front of him.

"Arkady got me to a doctor," he said as he began to unwrap the tangled scarfs.

She took his arm and steered him to the day bed under the front window, pushing him gently down as she assessed the damage he had suffered. He tried to hold in a groan, but was unsuccessful and he tilted his head as if to apologize.

"You were reported dead," she told him as she helped him off with his coat.

"By who?" His voice sharp and his eyes intensely focused.

"We'll talk about that after you rest and have had your tea," she replied. "I'll put out some scones in case you decide you're hungry after all."

"Don't drug the tea, Hetty," he said, his eyes holding a warning that surprised her. "We need to talk."

"Off the record?"

"For your ears only."

She acquiesced with a slight nod, taking in the thick beard and ruffled head of longish hair as well as the bruises just starting to fade on his cheek and around his left eye. She patted his shoulder before walking briskly out of the room to the small auxiliary kitchen overlooking the garden far below. She still marveled at his ability to move almost silently on a target, having not heard him climb the stairs, knowing his wounds had caused the momentary lapse in that studied prowess of his to arrive undetected when he wanted to. She had the same ability and it had served her well, as it had Callen.

He was asleep when she brought back the tea, but jerked awake almost immediately, his eyes wary until a twinge of pain made him squeeze them shut. His hand shook slightly as he took the mug of steaming tea.

"Afraid I'll break the expensive cups?" He asked with the familiar smirk she was so pleased to see again.

"I thought you needed a hardier dose than my porcelain cups can provide," she said. "Now tell me how you got here and why you didn't call?"

"I walked from downtown," he said. "And I didn't call because I'm pretty sure my phone is being monitored."

"By who?"

"Who do you think?" His voice expressing all the anger he was so obviously carrying.

"You can't believe that."

"This is the CIA, Hetty," he laughed. "Are you telling me you don't? My legend was compromised almost from the beginning; it just took me a while to figure it out. They used me as bait, Hetty, and it almost got me killed."

"You're bitter."

"Damn right I'm bitter," he spit out. "If Arkady hadn't helped me we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Do they know you're back in the country?"

"I don't trust anyone but you anymore," he said wearily. "I want out, Hetty."

"Where will you go, Mr. Callen?"

"Don't know. Any ideas?"

"Well you won't be welcomed elsewhere until you wrap up your current assignment," she answered. "They'll ruin your reputation if you don't."

"The op was blown on purpose, Hetty," Callen said as he rummaged in his pocket, finally pulling out a thumb drive, which he handed to her. "The evidence to prove it is on that drive."

"You haven't reported in have you?"

"I don't know who to trust."

"Let me make a few calls," she advised. "Now rest. I'm assuming you weren't followed."

"That's a hell of a snow storm out there, Hetty," he answered with a short laugh, leaving it at that as he stretched out on the small daybed and instantly fell asleep.

For the next couple of hours she worked her way through old friends and a long list of people in authority who owed her favors, making promises and reviving alliances as she navigated through the mess of an operation that Callen had been involved in. She got the story his handler wanted everyone to believe and then elicited the truth from his superior. Her last call was to the Director of the CIA, a long time colleague of a dear friend of hers and a man well aware of her connections.

"You need to clean house, Walter," she began. "A couple of your less than stellar underlings have created a clusterfuck and almost got a very talented undercover operative killed out of shear stupidity and arrogance. He wants out, Walter."

She listened to all his reasons why Callen had gotten it wrong and should stay, waiting until he exhausted his arguments before reminding him that he owed her a favor. Only after he acknowledged his debt did he agree to let Callen out of his contract. When she shared the information on the thumb drive, effectively ending the career of Callen's handler, she felt a weight lifted from her shoulders, knowing that Callen was now safe and could find a home where he chose, although she was already formulating where that should be.

When she returned to her study, she found him at one of the computers watching the video of the death of Officer Deeks' partner in LA.

"You continue to be very nosy, Mr. Callen. That's none of your business," she said, but he didn't acknowledge her, continuing to watch as the patrol car exploded in flames and Deeks was blown backwards into the wall.

"Was he killed?" He asked, finally looking up at her.

"No. Keep watching."

He seemed fascinated by the video as it changed to show the two killers approaching Deeks.

"He's fast."

"And accurate."

"Who is he?"

"A young LAPD officer I've been watching."

He ran the tape back a couple of times, watching the young cop take down the two assailants, finally shutting it off as he yawned.

"I could have used him to back me up on this last op," his said as his head began to droop. "Am I in the clear, Hetty?"

"It truly was your last op with the CIA, Mr. Callen," she told him. "Your handler will be terminated and his boss will be falling all over himself to make things right and score some points with the director. You can report to him when you're feeling up to it and this snow storm plays itself out."

"And you?"

"Are you worried about me, Mr. Callen?"

"You're not invincible," his concern clear in his wavering voice.

"That wasn't the question."

"I don't have a lot of friends, Hetty," he said. "You've looked out for me the last couple of years and I appreciate that and for what you just did. So, let me worry, okay?"

"As you wish, Mr. Callen, but no one will come after me, if that's what you're concerned about," she said with a small smile. "I can take care of myself and a few of the people I care about."

"Is the cop in LA one of those people?"

"We'll see."

"But you like him," he said as he tried to stifle another yawn.

"You're a retired spy, Mr. Callen, with emphasis on the word 'retired'," she chided. "He's not one of your cases. He's mine."

"Does he know that?"

"Go get some sleep and we'll discuss your need for a job in the morning," she said pointedly as she pushed him toward the guest room. "I've laid out fresh towels in the bathroom and a set of sweats are on the bed."

He turned to look at her, exhaustion softening his face, but he looked relieved of some of the fear he had carried in with him and that pleased her.

"Thanks, Hetty," he said softly. "It's nice to be home."

...

Deeks stretched for a full five minutes as he waited for Mick Rafferty to finish a heated debate about rugby versus American football with a couple of the UCLA athletes. The man was enthusiastic, he'd give him that, but he was getting miffed at the delay and antsy to get this challenge over with. Their first week together had been interesting, but it had caused him to reminisce about riding with Vernon, and he'd suffered silently through the feeling of loss still so much a part of him. He was grateful that Rafferty kept things professional, teaching him about the neighborhoods they'd be patrolling, making him aware of the gangs in the area, the oddball characters he seemed to have an affinity for and introducing him to local business owners and to a couple of his snitches. He had worked the same area for two years and was well known and respected, even feared by some of the habitual criminals in the area. While on patrol, he told funny stories and worked at getting him to open up, which for some reason he was still reluctant to do. He discovered Rafferty took lunch very seriously, showing him the best places to grab a bite, food trucks being his favorite. He did banter with the man, feeling his way as he learned what made him laugh and what ticked him off.

Traffic seemed to be the bane of his partner's existence, and he used some very descriptive phrases whenever a driver proved his belief that most people instantly became stupid, or 'thick' as he called it, the minute they got behind the wheel. He had incurred the man's instant indignation when he'd voiced his observation that he, Mick Rafferty, was one of the worse drivers he'd ever met, which was the reason they were on the track at his partner's alma mater. Rafferty had told him if he could beat him in a run around the quarter mile track, then he would let him drive for a week, making no promises about any long-term change, but Deeks had just laughed and accepted the challenge.

"No matter how long ya stretch those muscles, lad, you'll never beat the likes of me," Rafferty taunted as he jogged up and down in front of him.

"Your grandmother was your coach, Rafferty," Deeks quipped. "Unless she was an Olympian, I think I've got a shot."

"Do not disrespect my granny, Deeks," he replied, looking indignant and slightly crazed. "She'll wipe the floor with ya."

"She's still alive?"

"Of course she's still alive," Rafferty snorted. "She's a MacLaughlin. They're a long-lived clan as are the Rafferty's."

"Now you're a clan?" Deeks was starting to giggle as he asked, pissing off his partner. "You are so full of bullshit it's hilarious."

"Have ya no sense of family pride?"

Rafferty must have seen the warning in his eyes because he let it drop and started to stretch himself, but glanced occasionally at Deeks with a puzzled look on his face. Deeks knew he wouldn't leave his questions for long, having learned early on that the man was a bulldog if he wanted information. He didn't mind if he set his sights on a suspect, but he didn't like the idea of the man pressing him for personal details that were none of his business.

"Let's do this, Officer Deeks," Rafferty said as he adjusted his neck with a crack. "You win, ya drive for a week. I win, I drive and you buy lunch for a week."

"When did lunch become part of the deal?"

"I already drive. I need to make it worth giving up my Saturday to teach a lesson to a pathetic looking, uncivilized heathen." Rafferty grinned as he stood calmly at the starting line.

"Are you saying I'm a Neanderthal?"

"They were notoriously slow, too," Rafferty said as he suddenly took off running.

"Sonofabitch."

Deeks murmured a couple more dirty curses as he took off in pursuit. No way was he going to let this smart ass Irishman beat him, especially now that he knew the man had no qualms about cheating. He settled comfortably into his stride, confident in an ability he'd had since childhood and honed by a coach in high school who had taken an interest in him. He'd won all but one race in high school and that had been before the coach realized he was better at the longer sprints, even winning a couple of middle distance races. He began to calculate Rafferty's pace and lengthened his stride, noticing that he was gaining on the man as they rounded the first turn. He had his arms pumping now, his hands straight, cutting wind resistance as his adrenaline kicked in. He began to breathe in rhythm, taking shallow breaths as he settled into his consistent pace, watching the man in front of him get closer and closer as he reeled him in. He was almost even with him when they hit the far turn, gaining confidence when he heard the labored breathing of his partner. Once around the turn he simply pulled away, flying easily across the finish line first with a broad smile on his face.

"You might have won if you'd had Granny on your tail with her willow switch," Deeks gasped out as Rafferty collapsed on his back in the grass.

"You're probably right," he laughed as he struggled to catch his breath. "Ya can chase down all the suspects from now on, lad. Shit, you're wicked fast."

"Keys," Deeks said as he stood holding out his hand to his exhausted partner.

"I said ya could drive the patrol car, not my truck," Rafferty said as he knocked Deeks' hand aside and got up.

"That was never specified in the initial challenge," Deeks said with a crooked grin.

"I'd heard ya were a lawyer and now I believe the gossip," Rafferty said as he pulled a couple of bottled waters out of his gym bag and tossed one to Deeks.

"Keys." Deeks demanded, his eyebrow raised in annoyance.

"Tell me why you gave up being a lawyer and became a cop," he said as he grabbed his bag. "And I'll let ya drive my truck this one time."

"Another proposition?" Deeks laughed. "You already lost, Rafferty. Now give me the damn keys."

"Did you screw up a case or somethin'?" He pushed. "Did they kick you out cause ya get tongue tied in front of a jury? Or maybe ya wet your pants in front of a judge or somethin'."

"Or maybe I just thought I could make a bigger difference as a cop," Deeks said as he dropped his hand and began to walk away.

"Well ya already done that, now haven't ya, partner?" Rafferty said as he caught up to him and slapped him on the back.

Deeks didn't say anything, but he appreciated the comment, the two of them walking the remaining way out to the parking lot in silence. As they approached the bright red Dodge Ram, Deeks glanced over at Rafferty, and smiled a crooked grin at the tight clinch of the man's jaw as he pulled the keys out of the gym bag and reluctantly tossed them to him.

"Put one scratch on this beauty and I'll let Granny have a go at ya with that willow switch of hers," Rafferty warned, the look on his face making Deeks hesitate.

"How old is she?" He asked.

"Almost eighty, but don't let that fool ya," he said honestly. "The woman's not only crazy, she's as tough as nails. She might take pity on you though. She has a thing for surfers, always watchin' competitions online, especially from Hawaii. I think she just likes seeing the lads mostly naked."

"Shit Rafferty, she's your grandmother," Deeks laughed in surprise.

"I'm just telling it like it is," he replied as he climbed in the passenger seat. "I'll introduce you when we get to my house."

"I didn't know we were going to your house," Deeks said warily.

"Orders from Isabel," he answered. "I had to promise. She wants to thank you for having my back at O'Malley's last week."

"So she wasn't mad at you?" Deeks questioned as he pulled the truck out onto the street.

"Shit yeah she was," he laughed. "She hates to see me hurt. It scares her."

The last words were spoken with a hint of introspection and Deeks turned to look at him.

"She must have known the risk. You're a cop," He said hesitantly.

"She knew. Her dad was a cop. Killed on the job the first year we were married," he answered. "She's never forgiven him."

"What happened?"

"He was a detective. A good one. He and his partner went to take a woman into custody as a material witness in a murder case," his voice vibrating with long held anger. "His partner turned his back on her and she picked up a gun and tried to shoot him. Isabel's dad pushed him out of the way and she killed him."

"Sonofabitch."

"Isabel never liked Purcell, my last partner," he confided. "She didn't trust him and she was right. It's why she wants to meet ya. She might not look it, but she's as tough as her old man."

When they arrived at the house the street out front was crowded with various cars and trucks, causing Rafferty to swear softly under his breath.

"You're in for it now, lad," he said, giving Deeks a quick squeeze on the shoulder and a resigned look. "The whole damn family is here to look ya over."

"How big is your family?" Deeks asked, his eyes scanning the vehicles clogging the street.

"I grew up surrounded by women," he replied. "My ma, my crazy grandmother, and four older sisters and one younger one. Watch yourself. They're all here and they're all women to be reckoned with."

Deeks broke into a broad smile, giggling at the new information and the beleaguered look now infusing his new partner's face. Rafferty punched him in the shoulder before he could avoid it, his laughter softening as they reached the front steps. The door opened suddenly as a tall woman with curly auburn hair stormed out, practically colliding with Deeks, who grabbed her arms to steady them both. She looked up at him with turbulent dark brown eyes and a furious face covered in freckles. He could feel her anger in the trembling muscles of her arms before she stopped to look at him, her lips parting as a small gasp escaped.

"You can let me go now," she finally said firmly, a light smile sweetening the words.

"Sorry," Deeks said with a soft grin as he took a step back.

"This is Erin. My baby sister," Rafferty said. "She's always chargin' off somewhere. Who ticked ya off this time?"

"All of them," the words rushing out in a huff of frustration. "Why do they have to know everything I'm doing Mick? This damn family is too damn nosy."

"Ah, come on, you're the nosiest of the bunch. It's what makes ya such a good reporter. But they have fresh meat to tear into now," Rafferty laughed as he wrapped an arm around his sister and swept a hand out to indicate Deeks. "Come on back in. It'll be fun to watch."

"Why do I feel like I'm being thrown in the lions den?" Deeks asked.

"More like the fiery furnace," Erin laughed.

"I think I should probably go," he replied nervously as he started back pedaling.

"Don't tell me you scored another coward for a partner, Micky?" Erin said with a grin. "Isabel won't like that."

"I won't like what?" A striking Latino woman with long straight black hair asked from the doorway.

"Deeks is afraid to come in," Rafferty laughed.

"No, I just don't want to intrude," he said, glaring at his partner.

"You're the main attraction, Marty Deeks," Isabel said with a rather charming smile, taking his arm firmly and pulling him toward the door.

His partner's deep laugh mixed with the softer more melodic one from his sister as he allowed Isabel to usher him through the main room and into a large open kitchen. He was met with a wall of noisy conversation and heated arguments broken by an occasional laugh, which all stuttered to a stop as he entered.

"He's here," Isabel said bluntly. "You can help carry stuff into the dining room, Marty. They're worse when they're hungry."

The silence unnerved him as they examined him head to toe, the women darting looks at one another while the men simply looked sympathetic. He heard Rafferty laugh before all the women began asking questions at once, making him swallow hard and take a step back, unsure which one to answer first.

"Leave the poor lad alone, ya vultures," a sharp voice called out from behind him.

He turned as a gnarled hand took his and pulled him toward the back door, leading him out and down the few steps onto the grass to two lawn chairs facing a back garden, where a group of kids were engaged in a wild game of tag that included rough tackles, mostly by the girls.

"Don't let 'em get to ya, boyo," the stout little woman said as she patted the chair next to her as she sat down.

"No ma'am."

"They'd eat their own young before they let any harm come to young Micky," she said in a thick Irish accent that made her hard to understand.

This was the crazy grandmother he had heard stories about, but she was nothing like he'd imagined. Her hair was curly, completely white and kind of wispy, giving her a somewhat ethereal look. Her face was soft with wrinkles, but her blue eyes were piercing, as she looked him over. She took his hand again and turned it over, looking at his palm as she gently ran a crooked finger down the center of it, making him shiver and tense a bit at the intimacy of it.

"Raffy told ya I was gone in the head didn't he?" She said softly. "The lad is full of it, and the sooner ya know that the better ya'll be."

"Are you a palm reader?"

"Ya mean like a tinker?" She eyed him sharply then.

"I don't know what that is," he said with a gentle smile.

"Gypsies," she said as she crossed herself. "I'm no heathen, boyo."

"Of course not."

She rubbed a thumb across his palm and then looked at him for a long time until he grew embarrassed by her scrutiny. Her constant stroking of his palm gave him a sense of calm and he stared down at her weathered hands, a distant memory glowing warmly in the back of his mind. His partner had no idea how truly blessed he was.

"Some families are easy, some hard," she said softly and he looked up into her sharp eyes. "This one's a bit a both."

"What do you mean?"

"Some blessins, some broken hearts," she whispered as she watched the racing children. "Some at the same time. Ya understand my meanin'?"

"I'm not sure I do."

"Ya don't know my Raffy yet," she said as she gave him back his hand. "Did he tell ya about his Da?"

"I'm sorry. His what? I don't understand," he said, her odd terms and accent making communication difficult.

"His father, boyo. Did he talk to ya about his Da?" She asked, looking slightly frustrated.

"No. We haven't talked about family much," he said.

"He's had to be the man of the house for a time now. His Da barely here when he was just a boy. Off gallivantin' 'round to who knows where. Not even here when my Kiera died. Them girls love their brother, spoiled him rotten they did before I got here. Now they'll be looking to ya to keep him from harm."

"That's my job, ma'am," Deeks said earnestly, wanting to reassure her.

"I raised him to be tough," she said as she took his hand again. "He told ya about the willow switch, didn't he?"

"He did."

"Are ya tough, boyo?" She gripped his hand fiercely now, making him flinch. "Did your Da spare the rod or keep ya on the straight and narrow?"

Deeks stood up suddenly, pulling his hand from her grasp and rubbing the palms down the sides of his jeans. He was suddenly unsure, feeling oddly off balance by her questions, wondering if she was all that different from his dad. Maybe she was as crazy as Rafferty said she was. She sure as hell wasn't like anyone's grandmother he had ever met. It was as if she was looking right through him as they stared at each other and he realized his heart was pounding and the familiar taste of fear rose up in his throat.

"It wasn't done outa love, was it lad? More heartbreak than blessins in your young life I'm guessin'," Her face slowly softening as she stood and moved toward him. "But you learned to survive, didn't ya? And it made ya a strong man. One I can trust with my Raffy."

She patted his chest gently with her misshapen hands, nodding at him, no doubt visible in her watery eyes and he chanced a quick uncertain smile which she returned, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm and turning him back toward the house. He had no idea what to make of this strange little woman. Her toughness unsettled him, but he didn't question her love for her grandson, a love he envied, and that had him just a little bit scared.

...

...


	13. Chapter 13

**The Collector**

_Chapter 13_

...

Mick Rafferty had watched his partner closely when he came back in with his granny, noticing immediately how uncertain he was, looking slightly in shock, almost haunted, his eyes downcast and introspective. He knew how blunt his granny could be, but he was surprised by the wounded look in his partner's eyes and how quickly he covered it up when he caught him watching. When his last partner Purcell had talked with his grandmother, the man had returned looking pissed off and told Rafferty he wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, taunting him and telling him what a weak-ass shit he was to have his grandmother threaten him, calling him a pussy and some other choice names that had him fighting mad. But Deeks simply looked stunned and he glared at his granny when she looked his way. His sisters must have seen it too, their sympathy apparent and all too familiar as Erin quickly took his arm and pulled him free of Granny's grip. He was soon surrounded by all of his sisters and Mick saw him slowly begin to relax, that crooked grin of his flashing more and more as they made a fuss over him.

"Looks like she scared the holy crap out of him," Isabel remarked as she came up beside him.

"I warned him," he answered.

"Well at least your sisters are going easy on him," she said as she ran a hand down his back. "Erin especially."

"He is a charmin' devil, that one," Mick replied.

"What the hell do you think she said to him?" Isabel wondered.

"Don't know, darlin', but I'm sure as hell gonna find out. Right now I have to save him from my sisters," he said, giving her a quick kiss. "No rest for the wicked in this house."

"Good luck with that," she laughed.

"I'm only tellin' ya their names once, partner," Mick called out as he pushed between two of his sisters. "After that you're on your own."

"Maybe I should take notes," Deeks said. "I may need to get a few phone numbers."

"Their husbands may not be likin' that, lad," he warned.

"Mind your own business, Micky," Erin said, never taking her eyes off Deeks. "Some of us are still single."

"Now, the ugly one there beside ya is Moira." Mick started off, enduring a sharp elbow to the ribs. "The pig-nosed one is Kate, the gawky girl to your left is Fiona and Annie, being the only pretty one, unfortunately has a squawk for a voice, which leaves Erin, who ya met earlier and who should be avoided at all costs. I'm tellin' ya, Marty, she'll suck the life outa ya."

The women roared out in laughter at that one and Mick received an almost debilitating punch from his baby sister who was beet red and furious. Deeks simply raised his eyebrows as he stared at him, his smile growing wide as he slowly shook his head in disbelief.

"That's not what I meant," he stammered as Erin began hitting him with a spatula.

"Come on, Mick, before Erin gets her gun," Isabel said as she dragged him to safety, leaving Deeks with his sisters who began to tell embarrassing stories about him.

"Granny doesn't seem quite as scary after that," He said.

"Go find her," Isabel laughed. "Erin looks like she's out for blood. Yours."

Rafferty found his grandmother in the living room sitting by the window, and she looked strangely sad when she looked up at him.

"Are ya okay Granny?" He asked, suddenly worried about her.

"Look after that boyo, Raffy," she said. "He'll be needin' ya."

"Why, Granny? What'd he say?"

"There's so much hurt in his eyes," she said softly. "Couldn't ya see it Raffy?"

"He's plenty tough, Granny," he said, doubtful about her assessment.

"Didn't say he wasn't," she replied quietly. "But the man who made him that way took somethin' outa him doin' it."

"He never seems to want to talk about his family," he told her, sitting down beside her as she stared down at her hands. "Warns me off every time I ask."

"Keep at it lad," she said. "He's a lonely one. Been one a long time, I'm guessin'. Be a friend, Raffy. Ya won't be sorry. He'll not let ya down. I think he'd sooner die than do that."

Her intensity surprised him. She didn't take to people outside the family easily, even to his sisters' husbands, but he could tell Deeks had gotten to her in some way during their brief conversation. She had a protective streak when it came to people she cared about. She might be tough on them, but she was the only one allowed to be, anyone else had better watch themselves. One of his most vivid memories from childhood was Granny practically whacking the pants off of one of the older neighbor boys who had taunted him viciously and knocked him off his bike. The kid's parents had to be talked out of calling the cops, one of the few times his father had been around to smooth things over. He was good at that kind of thing, his time as a diplomat paying off big time on that occasion.

"Lunch is on the table," Isabel called out and he helped his granny to her feet and followed her into the dining room.

Rafferty stood behind her chair watching Deeks as the blessing was given. His partner didn't bow his head, but took the time to look from sister to sister, his eyes lingering on Erin before he looked up and saw him watching. A soft smile played across his face and there was a look of contentment that hadn't been there earlier. Rafferty wondered if the joking around had been the difference, remembering how the man fell back on his natural humor even in situations that might not call for it. Deeks' eyes flickered down to his grandmother's face, and he saw a hint of vulnerability and wariness flare up briefly, making him curious again about their conversation in the garden. Both of them had come away touched by their encounter, but he had been surprised by what it had done to Granny. The woman was a rock, not given to expressing her emotions, but something about Deeks had brought out her softer side and that he hadn't seen since his mother died and she had gathered him into her arms.

Family gatherings were always loud affairs and today's lunch was no different, the sisters taking turns telling his partner every embarrassing childhood story about him they could remember. By the time lunch was over, Deeks looked shell shocked, but happy. His sisters' kids, all seven of them tore out through the back door, shouting taunts and threats, the little ones screaming in high-pitched voices that always made him shiver. He stood behind the screen door and watched them for a moment, his eyes looking back to find Isabel, knowing she would be watching them as well. She caught his eye and smiled sadly before turning back to join the sisters in cleaning up after the meal, their voices rising and then falling to whispers as they discussed his partner's obvious physical attributes. The husbands had gathered in the living room to watch football, shouting occasionally, but watching their language since Granny was in the room. She was the only one allowed to swear. He spent some time watching the game, but grew disinterested and went in search of Deeks, who had been dragged off somewhere by his baby sister. He found Erin in the kitchen blushing and laughing at something Fiona had said, pointing to the back yard when he asked where Deeks was.

He laughed when he saw Deeks surrounded by the screaming pack of kids, five-year-old Abby, clinging to his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he charged through a line of four boys bellowing like a bull. He ended up dragging two boys on each leg until he collapsed to his knees laughing. He gently swung Abby off his back and then was tackled to the ground by the boys and the two older girls.

"I knew ya were a wuss and this proves it," Rafferty called out over the laughter and giggles. "Taken down by a squirmin' bunch of little kids. How can I trust ya to have my back in a tussle with the bad guys with this image in the back of my mind?"

"Did you just use the word tussle?" He asked as he lay flat on his back in the grass, the boys working to pin his arms and legs down.

"It's a word, isn't it?"

"Yeah, from the seventeenth century," he allowed as Abby tied a ribbon in his hair.

"I need a picture of this," he laughed, pulling his phone out as Deeks struggled to get up. "I'm enlargin' this and tackin' it up in the squad room. You should wear a bow in your hair every day, lad. It's cute. The gang bangers will love it."

"You show that picture to the guys and I might have to pass along some of the stories I heard about you today," Deeks threatened as he finally managed to get on his feet, a boy clinging to each arm and leg.

"Some partner ya are," Mick huffed out. "A wuss and a tattletale."

"Ya both sound like a couple a nine-year-olds," Moira laughed as she arrived and waved for the kids to get in the house. "Thanks for keepin' the hellions occupied, Marty. Don't be a stranger now and keep each other safe out there, okay?"

"Wait. Abby needs her ribbon back," Deeks said as he started to undo the bow on top of his head.

"No Uncle Marty. You need it for when you want to look pretty," Abby whined.

"He's gonna need a lot more ribbons for that to happen," Mick quipped with a snicker.

"Thank you, Princess," Deeks said with an elaborate bow as Abby curtsied.

"You're much prettier than Uncle Micky," Abby whispered loudly. "Aunty Erin thinks so too."

"Well then, it must be true if two beautiful ladies say so," Deeks whispered back as he grinned at Rafferty.

Deeks was surprised by a hug from Moira before giving a quick kiss to her brother as she said goodbye. The others waved from the house and soon they were alone in the muted light of the early evening. Isabel brought them a couple of beers, but didn't stay, causing Deeks to eye him suspiciously.

"You're not gonna interrogate me are you?" Deeks said after taking a deep drink of his beer. "Cause your grandmother already did that."

"I told ya she was scary," Rafferty laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pushing him toward a couple of lounge chairs. "Did you tell her what she wanted to hear?"

"Not sure," he mumbled. "She just wants to make sure I don't get you killed, I think."

"I hope you promised her that at least, partner," Rafferty said with a smile, wanting to lighten the mood.

"I think she'd still be out here questioning me if I hadn't," he replied solemnly.

"She likes you," Rafferty confided. "That's rare, lad."

"She asked if you'd talked about your father, or Da, as she called him," Deeks said with a curious look on his face.

"You don't talk about your family, so I don't owe you that conversation just yet," he said gruffly, taking a long drink of his beer and trying to rein in his sudden anger.

"You don't owe me anything," Deeks said quietly. "I won't ask about yours if you don't ask about mine."

"Deal, partner," he said, wondering if he hadn't just lost something in the bargain.

"You're lucky though," Deeks said as he let out a long breath. "Your family's great."

"It's a bloomin' madhouse when they're all here," he said, finally laughing. "But, it's nice to see the kids. You're good with 'em."

"They were fun," Deeks answered. "They don't ask questions."

"We're a nosy bunch, that's for sure," he said with a wide smile.

"Can I call you Raffy?"

"Shit no," he said, choking on the sip of beer he was about to swallow. "Makes me sound like a cartoon character. Granny's the only one allowed to call me that."

"How about Raff?"

"What's wrong with callin' me Mick?"

"Not as dashing as Raffy or Raff," Deeks said lightly.

"Dashing? Now who's using words from the seventeenth century," Mick asked, sitting up straighter as he watched his partner's expression change.

A warm smile softened his face and then broke into that charming grin he'd flashed when he'd been surrounded by his sisters. The man was a natural born flirt, and he'd seen what his presence did to women including his own sisters. He hadn't heard them giggle like that since he'd brought a friend home from college. He turned to see Erin walking across the yard toward them, her eyes fixed on his partner.

"You're a glutton for punishment, lad," he said with a quick laugh.

"That sounds promising," Deeks replied softly.

"I don't want to have to kick your ass, but I will," Mick huffed out. "She's my sister, lad."

"And I have a mind of my own, Micky," Erin said as she slapped the back of his head.

"That's what scares me," he replied.

"Need a ride home?" Erin asked Deeks, ignoring her brother completely.

"Seriously?"

"Of course," she smiled. "We don't live that far apart."

"Good to know," he said as he stood up, his smile spreading and making Rafferty just a little uncomfortable.

"Don't make me have to kick your ass, Deeks," he warned.

"You'll have to catch me first, Raffy," he replied with a smirk. "And we both know that ain't gonna happen."

"Then I guess I'll just have to shoot ya," he laughed.

"That's not funny, Micky," Erin said sharply.

"He's never funny," Deeks quipped.

"I'm funny."

Deeks and his sister laughed, but suddenly Deeks became quite serious and that vulnerable look was back in his eyes. He reached out to shake his hand and seemed rather shy as he thanked him for lunch and for introducing him to his family. He seemed almost relieved when he was told that Granny was taking a nap and he wondered if either one of them would ever share what they had talked about. As he walked them back toward the house, he recalled his granny's comments about his partner being a lonely man and wondered once again about the man's family or if he even had one. He had agreed not to ask about his father, but had made no such promise about family in general, but he knew he would have to be patient, and he wasn't very good at that.

...

Deeks invited Erin in for a beer when they got to his place, hoping for more, but not pushing it since she was his partner's sister. She was quite beautiful, her freckles making her look young and somewhat innocent. The look in her eyes however, wasn't innocent at all and that was attractive and very seductive. She followed him into the kitchen and her hand slip up under his tee shirt as he bent down to get a couple of bottles from the fridge. When he turned to offer her one, her hand slowly moved around his waist and up under his shirt to his chest, resting there as her other sneaked around his neck and pulled his head down for a soft, enticing kiss.

"You're going to get me shot," he whispered.

"Are your scared?"

Before he could answer she kissed him again, deeper this time and he fumbled to set the unopened beers on the counter so he could respond. He took her face in his cold hands and she broke her kiss to giggle as she shivered.

"You are sexy as hell," she whispered as she lifted his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head as he smiled. "Now just stand there and let me look at you."

Her hands followed her eyes as she explored his upper body, and he couldn't keep the smile from his face as she ran her hands down both of his arms, finally resting them briefly on his hips. She dipped her head and her soft brown hair brushed his chest as she kissed the base of his throat, her tongue trailing down to his nipple, moving slowly over and around it until his breath quickened with excitement. He ran his long fingers through the soft curls of her hair and she raised her head to look at him, want clearly in her hazel eyes and he pulled her roughly to his chest, his mouth covering hers in an urgent need to get as close as possible. Her deep throaty laugh surprised him as she pulled her mouth away, her eyes fixed on his lips, touching them lightly before she kissed him. Her want was as obvious as his, and although he doubted they should be doing this he was quickly losing control, unable to stop himself from grasping her ass and jerking her hard against him. Her tongue was urgent in his mouth now, and she moaned once again as he undid her bra and moved his hand to her breast, squeezing gently, his fingers brushing across her large nipples. He began to walk her backwards toward the couch, wanting her beneath him. He laid her down as she pulled at the zipper on his pants, which he slipped quickly off along with his shoes and socks, hovering over her totally naked, watching her smile as she gently stroked the back of his thigh.

"I want you," she whispered in a low, thick voice. "Now, get me naked."

He laughed as he knelt beside her and began to unbutton the blue cotton shirt she was wearing, but she frowned and shook her head, looking suddenly amused as she quickly sat up, shedding it and her lacy blue bra. He slowed down then, unable to keep his hands from her full breasts, holding them in his hands as he bent down to lick them, enjoying the gasps she uttered when he straddled her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth closed over her nipple, sucking and teasing with his tongue until she began to writhe beneath him.

"I'm not naked yet," she whispered.

"You don't have a lot of patience do you?"

"Runs in the family."

"I don't want to think about your family right now. Especially your brother."

"Then take off my pants and you'll forget all about my family."

He did as he was told, slowly removing her lacy blue thong and trailing kisses down her inner thigh. He came up between her legs, letting them rest on his shoulders, watching her pant as he lifted her, the heat building inside both of them. He began to stroke her sensuous body and breasts as his tongue moved relentlessly inside her, her hips rising and falling, her fingers grasping at his arms as if she wanted to pull him deeper. She came in an explosion of cries, and then urgently reached for him. He crawled up her body until she could grasp him, stoking hard until he pushed her hand away and entered her, his own climax matching hers as their laughter exploded with the sexual release.

"Do that again," she whispered as he kissed her breast.

"You really aren't a patient woman," he laughed as he slipped off to her side and gathered her to his chest.

"You're addictive," she said as she licked his bottom lip.

"And you're worth getting shot over."

"Shut up," she said as she stroked his chest. "You're my brother's best partner ever."

"Tell me you didn't have sex with all of them," he said with a laugh.

"I think I should be pissed you said that," she laughed. "You're the first, you smart ass bastard."

"Glad to hear it," he said. "I've met Purcell and picturing him on top of you would have given me nightmares."

"Micky would definitely have shot that piece of shit if he'd tried anything."

"Well, don't tell him about this or he just might shoot me," Deeks said quietly.

"He likes you too much to do that," she answered. "Besides, I don't tell my brother anything about my sex life. He doesn't want to believe I have one."

"Seriously?"

"Weird, isn't it?"

"I'd be the same way if you were my sister."

"I'm glad I'm not," she purred slowly as she brushed her thumb across his cheek.

He kissed her softly, his hand caressing her breast, wanting her again.

"You have a one track mind," she laughed.

"Hard not to when someone as sexy as you is lying naked in my arms, Kitten," he replied with a crooked grin.

"I'm more of a tigress than a kitten," she growled, kissing him lightly.

"I can see that," he said softly. "That pretty much describes your whole family. Your grandmother told me you and your sisters would eat your own young to keep your brother safe."

"Granny tends to exaggerate. She's the one who lives to protect Mick," she said as she pulled away and stared up at the ceiling.

"Is he her favorite?"

"By a long shot," she said, sitting up and reaching for her shirt.

Deeks sat up next to her and kissed her shoulder, worried that he had upset her somehow. He was interested in her. She was more mature than Nika and didn't need drugs to enliven her lovemaking.

"Did I hit a sore spot?" He asked as she stood and slipped on her shirt.

Her voluptuous ass was right next to him and he couldn't resist it, pulling her hips gently back and biting her softly, making her laugh. She turned to face him, her hands threading though his hair as he kissed her belly button.

"You're trouble," she said seriously.

"How's that?" He said, standing to face her. "Are you afraid to get involved with me because of your brother?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," she said with a smile.

"Is that another family trait?" He asked as he snuggled against her, holding her close.

"You seem quite interested in our family," she said with a quizzical look on her face. "Why is that? We're just a big old Irish family that's had its ups and downs just like any other family. We're nothing special."

"You're special," he said as he kissed her neck. "Or Mick wouldn't have threatened to shoot me."

"Mick tries to act like he's my dad," she said. "And I let him do that when I was young, but I'm not a kid anymore."

"No. No you're not, Tiger," he said as he brushed her hair away from her face.

"Granny was the one who pushed him to be the man of the house," she said with a hint of anger that caught his attention. "After Dad left for good, she was hard on him and he wasn't much more than a kid himself."

"How old was he?"

"Fifteen," she said as she sunk back down into the corner of the sofa. "Dad had never been a real constant in our lives, even when Mom was alive. He was always working and most of the time we weren't even sure where he was. He was always going abroad on some assignment and Micky really missed him. When Dad told us he was moving to Europe without us, Mick was devastated. Started getting in a lot of fights at school. My sisters were pissed and pretty much ran wild, so Granny became even tougher on us, especially on my brother. I hated her for that."

"She loves him," he stated.

"Tough love, though," she said bitterly. "Real tough. But he loved her in spite of it. She looked out for him that was for sure. I think he liked the attention, even when she went after him with that switch of hers."

"Did she hurt him?" He asked, the words trembling on his tongue.

"No, not really," she answered, looking at him oddly. "I'm sorry. We probably sound like uncivilized monsters compared to your family."

"If you think your family is full of monsters than you haven't really met one," he said softly.

"What does that mean?"

He knew he had said too much and got up and dressed and she did the same, but she didn't let her question drop, but repeated it.

"It's none of your business," he said sharply, but was instantly sorry, not wanting the day to end like this.

"I'm interested in you, Marty," she said as she came up behind him. "And I'm a reporter, so asking questions comes with the territory. Talking helps. Believe me I've been through enough therapy to know."

"Therapy doesn't erase the memories," he choked out.

Her arms wrapped around him then and she held him, not saying a word and he felt his throat close up as he struggled to maintain his emotional distance.

"What's the name of your monster?" Her whispered question so personal, yet asked in a tone of voice that revealed her sympathy and maybe even understanding.

"You have no idea how hard it is for me to answer that question."

"Maybe I do?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Why are you so afraid to tell me?"

"It was a long time ago," he mumbled. "It doesn't matter now."

"Liar."

"Let's just stick to sex," he said quickly, breaking free of her arms and running his hands up through his unruly hair.

"Probably a good idea," she said sadly. "And probably time for me to go."

"Yeah. No. Sorry." He stammered, suddenly uncertain where this left them.

"I understand wanting to keep a part of yourself private," she said as she put her hands on his chest. "So no need to apologize."

"I have a feeling you're a damn good reporter," he laughed lightly.

"And you're damn good at keeping people at a distance," she replied. "Mick might not be so easy."

"We made a deal," he said.

"He cheats."

"I know," he laughed.

"I doubt if you know how much."

"I'd like to see you again, Erin."

"Like I said, Marty, you're addictive."

"Good to know, Kitten."

"Haven't I convinced you I'm a tiger?"

"I think I need another demonstration," he whispered close to her ear.

"I'll bet you do," she growled. "Let's keep both our families out of it next time."

"Don't have to worry about mine," he said as one of her hands slipped under his shirt, while the other found its way between his legs, totally distracting him.

"Why's that?" She whispered before her warm mouth closed over the base of his neck.

"Don't have one," he replied as he began to respond to the movement of her hands. "God woman, you're driving me crazy."

"I'm sorry," she said softly as she stopped what she was doing and leaned into him, her hands moving up to hold his face.

"Sorry for driving me crazy?"

"No. Sorry about your family. You must miss them."

"Only my mom."

"And your dad? Is he your monster?"

"Yeah. He was."

She wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding him, making him wonder what he had been so afraid of. Maybe she did understand. Maybe she was just what he needed. Maybe they could find something together if her brother didn't shoot him.

...

...


	14. Chapter 14

**The Collector**

_Chapter 14_

...

The call came in just at the end of their shift and Deeks made a quick turn down an alley, a shortcut Rafferty had shown him when they'd first become partners. A few months in and he was now the official driver of the partnership, having earned respect after a hair-raising car chase that covered over twenty blocks and ended when he'd forced the suspect's car into the back of a small flatbed truck loaded with bags of manure. Neither one of them wanted to cuff the two men, since a few of the bags had broken open when they'd smashed through the windshield, leaving the suspects literally smelling like shit. Deeks ended up with the honor after the other two officers who arrived on the scene made it clear that as a rookie the dirty job was his. Jokes still made the rounds about that collar, none of them clean, which he thought was only appropriate. His reward came from Rafferty, who allowed him to drive from then on. Now the streets were dark and slick with rain as they responded to a reported robbery with shots fired. They were in one of the rougher neighborhoods and Rafferty reminded him of the presence of two rival gangs in the area.

"You stay close, Marty," he ordered. "No sprintin' off alone around here."

"Okay, Mom," he responded as they pulled up in front of a pet store.

"Somebody musta needed drug money," Rafferty said, before reporting that they were on the scene.

Deeks drew his weapon and followed his partner as he slowly approached the well-lit store. They both shouted LAPD as they entered, but there was no human response, only the shrill sound of barking puppies.

"This one's dead," Deeks said as he stepped over a body just a few feet from the door, two bullet holes in the center of the man's back.

"Got one wounded," Rafferty said quietly as he approached a man leaning against a row of cages with a bullet wound in his stomach, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at his bloody hands.

"You alone, sir?" he asked. "Anybody else in the store?"

"He's got her in the back," the man mumbled. "Don't let him hurt her, please."

"Just one shooter?"

"He's crazy, officer," the man nodded in a daze.

Deeks quietly called in the situation and asked for an ambulance while Rafferty quickly snagged a new dog blanket from a rack and tried to stem the bleeding, placing the man's hands over it. Deeks had moved toward the other side of the store, his weapon sweeping back and forth as he searched for the suspect. Both officers met at the curtain blocking the view of the back room and stood on either side of the doorway, guns ready.

"LAPD. Throw down your weapon and come out where we can see ya," Rafferty shouted, his voice deep and commanding.

"Fuck off," a man yelled back. "That asshole deserved it."

"Why's that, man?" Deeks asked lightly.

"Cause Sadie belongs with me," the guy shouted, obviously upset.

Deeks reached over and pushed the curtain back a little so he could take a peek and assess the situation, a crooked, nervous grin flaring briefly when he saw their suspect and the hostage.

"He's got a puppy in his arms, Mick," Deeks reported.

"Are you shittin' me?"

Rafferty threw back the curtain and took a step into the doorway, but Deeks slammed into him and knocked him out of the way just as the suspect fired. Instantly regaining his feet, Deeks peered around the edge of the doorframe holding his gun on the man clutching a Golden Retriever puppy to his chest.

"You just tried to kill a police officer, man," Deeks said, breathing heavily. "You willing to die for that dog? Your choice. Either surrender or I'm coming in firing."

"No! No! You'll hit Sadie," the man pleaded, dropping his gun to the floor. "Don't shoot man, don't shoot."

"Put the dog down. Now!" Rafferty ordered as they both moved inside.

When he placed the dog on the floor, Deeks grabbed the man and forced him face down beside the whimpering little dog and cuffed him. That was the moment the puppy decided to pee all over the place.

"You scared Sadie, numb-nuts," Deeks said as he stepped quickly away from the advancing puddle.

"It was you, dude. She thought you were going to shoot her," the suspect whined as Deeks pulled him to his feet.

"Yeah, and that makes her a hell of a lot smarter than you," Deeks told him as he pushed him out of the room.

Once the guy was locked in the back of the squad car, Deeks went back in to find his partner. The EMTs were loading the storeowner onto a gurney and Rafferty was questioning him, getting a few answers before the medics insisted they needed to go.

"What's his story?" Deeks asked.

"The shooter bought the dog, but his check bounced," Rafferty answered. "So, the owner repossessed the dog. It was one of his favorites. He even tried to talk the guy outa buying the dog in the first place. The dead guy was just a customer trying to get out of the store."

"Hell hath no fury like a dog lover scorned," Deeks said quietly. "Seriously though, he used a check? No credit card? Kind of an old fashioned killer then..."

"Thanks Deeks," Rafferty interrupted before he could really get started. "That bastard mighta killed me. Didn't think he'd fire. How'd ya know, lad?"

"Couldn't you smell it? He was drunk," Deeks answered. "I could tell by the look in his eye. Learned that look pretty early on."

"Glad you did," Rafferty said, slapping him on the shoulder as a couple of detectives and a forensic team arrived.

They reported what had happened and the two detectives informed them that the dog was evidence and to make arrangements for him.

"Are you kidding me? Can't we just leave the dog here?" Deeks asked. "Isn't someone coming to take care of all these animals?"

"The owner said he has a sister," Mick replied. "But we should take the dog to hold as evidence."

"Seriously?"

"She looks sad and kinda lonely, don't ya think, lad?"

"Where are you going to keep him?"

"Her. Her name's Sadie, remember?"

"Think the sarge will let you keep her in the squad room?"

"I could take her home with me," he said softly, kneeling down by the whimpering puppy. "She could keep Isabel company. Give her someone to cuddle."

"I thought that was you?"

"Don't be thick, lad," he snapped.

Rafferty looked angry and Deeks let it drop, watching his partner carefully as he talked to the two detectives about his idea. They didn't seem to much care what he did with the dog, but insisted on taking the suspect, which Rafferty didn't take well.

"That shit almost shot me," his voice rising. "Now, you two get the arrest?"

"Mick. Let it go, man. It's their call," Deeks cautioned.

"Listen to your partner, Rafferty," the lead detective warned as he walked away.

"Come on Raffy, before Sadie decides to go number two on their crime scene," Deeks urged with a smile.

"I told you not to call me that," his voice low and he was obviously pissed.

Deeks shut up, realizing that it wasn't the current situation that had him upset, although almost getting yourself shot usually puts you off for a while. He'd been quiet all day and tonight was the longest conversation the two had had during their shift. Rafferty grabbed one of the store's dog leashes and a collar, kneeling down next to the panting dog and petting her gently, talking softly to her as he put on a red collar and attached the leash. The puppy seemed excited and Deeks hoped she wouldn't pee all over the inside of the patrol car, because he would be the one who'd have to clean it up. They handed over their suspect to the two detectives and let Sadie in the back, and Deeks saw the first smile from his partner that day. As he drove away from the scene, Rafferty turned toward him with a questioning look.

"Would ya have shot the dog?" He asked.

"What? No. I was bluffing," Deeks answered, surprised by the intensity in his voice. "You really think I'd shoot a puppy?"

"At that moment, I believed ya would," he replied.

"You don't hold a very high opinion of me, do you?" Deeks was the one pissed now and he let it show.

"You're wrong about that, lad," he said softly. "Hell, ya probably saved my life."

"Probably?"

"He was drunk," Rafferty said with a tiny smile. "He probably woulda missed."

"Did you forget the dead guy? Just cause he was drunk doesn't mean he would have missed a big target like you," Deeks said sharply.

"You an authority on gettin' shot at by drunks now?" Rafferty snapped back quickly.

"Yeah. I am," Deeks murmured.

"You're a damn rookie, Marty. How many times could ya have possibly been shot at by drunken suspects?"

"Just once." His voice growing even softer.

"You're still alive, so he obviously missed," Rafferty huffed out.

"No, he didn't."

"When was this?"

"You don't need to know that," Deeks answered. "And I don't want to talk about it, so let's just get this shift over with so you can go home and play with your new puppy."

"I think I do need ta know," Rafferty said, sounding irritated.

"Yeah? Well if you're so interested in talking, why don't you tell me why you've been in such a shitty mood all day."

"It's personal," he said softly.

"Yeah? Well so's mine," Deeks said loudly, finally losing his patience.

They drove in silence until they were at a stoplight and Sadie began to bark at the car next to them, getting smiles from the couple in the car. Rafferty tried to quiet her with a sharp command, but the dog ignored him. Deeks was surprised when he yelled at the dog, noticing just how much more tense his partner had become. He called the dog's name softly and began to talk baby talk to her in a singsong voice and the puppy turned away from the window, whining softly before settling down once again.

"Kids and dogs seem to be your specialty, Deeks," Rafferty said quietly. "Did ya grow up with dogs?"

"My dad didn't have any use for them," he answered as the light changed. "But I kept bringing home strays anyway. Never ended well. How about you?"

"My mom loved dogs," he said softly. "We had a Cocker and a big old black Lab that used ta follow her around the house. Riley, the Lab, used to lie next to her on the bed when she was sick. We could never get him to leave her."

"You okay?" Deeks ventured to ask.

"We aren't doing too well as partners, are we lad?" he said as he stared out the window at the rainy streets.

"We work well together on the job," Deeks answered, sneaking a nervous look at his partner.

"But we don't quite trust each other yet," Rafferty said. "If we did, I should be able to tell ya anything that's going on with me and you should be able ta do the same."

Deeks drove silently through the dark streets, recalling his conversations with Vernon about what being a good partner meant. It wasn't only about working well together, but trusting each other with things you kept close to your heart. Vernon had been patient with him, but Rafferty wasn't the patient sort.

"Vernon used to get mad at me in the beginning, too," Deeks finally said. "He said I could tell him anything, but it wasn't until he told me that his mother had been a heroin addict that I understood what he meant. That confession surprised the hell out of me, but it didn't change my opinion of him. It still took me some time to open up, but when I did I realized I had a friend for life..."

His chest and throat constricted when he said those last few words and he gasped, not expecting to experience such a strong emotional reaction. Rafferty quickly realized what was happening and put a hand on his shoulder, anchoring him as his eyes misted at the memory.

"Pull over, Marty," Rafferty ordered softly.

When he stopped the car, he sat gripping the wheel tightly with both hands, riding out the emotions that had caught him unawares. Rafferty remained silent and he appreciated that, embarrassed to show such vulnerability in front of the man.

"You miss him," Mick finally said.

"Yeah," Deeks choked out. "He was the closest thing to family I've had in a long time."

His confession lay between them, and he steeled himself, expecting Rafferty to question him about it, but his new partner briefly squeezed his shoulder and then sat quietly staring out at the passing traffic.

"Isabel miscarried last night," he said without inflection, his voice hollow and bereft.

Deeks was stunned and couldn't think what to say, finally mumbling out a weak word of sympathy he wasn't sure Rafferty even heard.

"We've been tryin' for a few years now," he continued. "This is her second miscarriage. God, I hated leavin' her this mornin'."

His tough partner bowed his head and began to softly pound his fists into his thighs, continuing until Deeks laid a hand over them to make him stop.

"I'll drop you off at home," Deeks said, starting the car. "I'll do the reports."

"Thanks," he replied.

When they got to Rafferty's place, he let the puppy out of the back and handed the leash to his partner. He started to get back in the patrol car, but Rafferty stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Come in with me?" he asked, his expression open and honest.

"Sure, Raff," he said.

"You really do like nicknames don't ya?"

"Women seem to like them," he answered with a tentative smile.

"What do ya call Erin?"

Deeks stopped, unsure what might happen next, hearing the implied threat in his partner's voice.

"If punching me would help, have at it Mick," he said softly.

"I'm not afraid of any man, Marty," he replied. "But, seeing my wife go through this again scares the shit outa me. I didn't mean to take it out on ya, lad."

"You're going through it too, buddy."

"Have a beer with me, Marty," Mick said wearily. "God knows I could use one."

"Whatever you need."

"Thanks, partner."

As soon as they got inside the puppy began barking loudly, bringing out not only Isabel, but Granny as well.

"This is Sadie," Rafferty managed to say.

"She's evidence," Deeks chimed in. "Mick said he would watch her till the case clears."

"She's adorable," Isabel said with a sad smile. "Has she eaten? I have some leftover chicken."

"A dog'll eat just about anythin', luv," Granny said kindly. "Take her into the kitchen with ya. Maybe give her a bit a milk."

Isabel's smile was heartbreaking as she took the puppy's leash and led her toward the kitchen. Deeks reached out and laid his hand on Mick's back as he hesitated, pushing him gently forward. He looked back and then followed his wife.

"I'd better go," Deeks said quickly as he looked uncertainly at Granny.

"He told ya?"

"Yeah. I feel so bad for them," he murmured.

"You're the only one that knows, boyo," she said as she clutched his arm.

"He didn't tell his sisters?"

"Woulda been too hard," she replied. "They all knew the first time and made such a fuss as only Rafferty women can. 'Twas awful to tell 'em the babe was gone. So, this time they kept it to themselves."

"He thought the puppy might help," Deeks said as he turned toward the door to leave.

"Stay boyo," she gently requested. "Don't ya have a few stories you could tell to take their minds off the sadness for a little bit?"

"Stories?"

"Surely ya have a few, boyo," she looked at him quizzically as she spoke. "Ya had the Rafferty women laughin' ta beat the band the last time ya were here. Course lookin' at ya they probably woulda laughed at anything ya said."

"Are you saying you think I'm handsome?" He asked as he smiled and furrowed his brow, wondering if he had heard right.

"Don't go gettin' all full of yourself now, boyo," she said sternly. "Ya are a fine lookin' young man, but don't go thinkin' the sun, the moon and the stars rise and set on your arse."

Deeks tried his best to stifle his laugh, given the circumstances, but he couldn't and Mick and Isabel turned to look at him from the kitchen.

"Your granny thinks I'm a fine lookin' man, Mick," he said, trying to imitate her accent.

"She's almost eighty, Deeks," he replied. "Her eyesight's goin'."

"My eyes are as good as the day I was born, Mick Rafferty," she said as she shook her finger at her grandson. "I'll not have ya disrespectin' your granny."

"Come have a Guinness, Granny," Mick said softly. "I offered Marty a beer."

"Maybe some tay," she said with a nod. "With a small dollop of whiskey."

Deeks eyes widened at the old woman's order, but a smile brightened his partner's face briefly, so he followed her into the kitchen. Isabel was cradling the puppy in her arms, and it was wiggling happily, licking her face with a lively, pink tongue. She looked at him with wounded eyes, a brave smile on her face as she whispered baby talk to Sadie. His partner handed him a bottle of ale and took a Guinness for himself out of the fridge. Granny started a kettle for tea and Deeks couldn't shake the feeling of awkwardness, unsure what he could say to ease the tension and unspoken sadness in the room.

"Did you have a dog when you were little, Marty?" Isabel asked.

"Not officially," he replied. "But I found this stray one time...well actually, he found me. I'd crawled inside a large cardboard box in an alley to get out of the rain and this scraggly looking dog had the same idea. He was soaking wet and shivering and I wasn't much better..."

He hesitated to continue, unsure what revealing even a small part of himself would do to his relationship with this family or why he had chosen this particular story to tell.

"Go on," Granny told him as she poured a generous amount of Jameson's into her waiting teacup. "No bull, boyo. Not tonight."

"He bit me," he laughed quickly. "When I tried to pull him into my lap, he bit me. I understood though. It was stupid on my part. He wasn't used to kindness. I had an apple in my pocket I'd sneaked out with, and as soon as I got it out, I had his full attention. We ate it together. Spent the night there keeping each other warm. The next morning he followed me home. I named him Buster."

"How long did you have him," Mick asked, his expression an odd mixture of anger and curiosity.

"About a week," Deeks answered warily.

"Did he run off?" Isabel asked, the need to know so naked in her eyes.

"No. My dad discovered where I was hiding him," he answered, swallowing a large part of his beer, not wanting to say more.

"No going back now, boyo."

"That dog would follow me to school every day," he shared, his voice lightening as he spoke, not wanting to tell what had finally happened. "I'd find him waiting patiently by the same tree every day when school was over. He wasn't much for games. Wouldn't fetch worth a damn, but he loved my mom's peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I always saved him half for after school. I taught him to sit up and roll over, though. He was smart. Would do anything for an apple, too. Don't know what breed he was, probably just a mutt, but after I had hosed off all the mud he was kinda cute in a rough and tumble sort of way."

"What happened to him?" Isabel asked.

"My dad never said," he replied abruptly. "I think he probably gave dad the slip and hooked up with someone else along the line. If they had peanut butter he would be theirs for life."

He pasted on a wide smile, hoping she wouldn't probe any deeper.

"How old were you, Marty?" Rafferty asked softly.

"Eight."

Isabel set Sadie down and walked over to him and surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and hugging him. He wasn't sure what to do, and the tears that gathered beneath his lashes made him feel embarrassed, and he quickly blinked them away. He looked over at Mick, but he was looking down and Granny had turned away as well to pour her tea.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly as Isabel let him go. "I don't know why I told that story tonight."

"Shared pain, Marty," she said. "Makes us realize we're not alone in our suffering. You come over as often as you like. Promise me that, okay?"

"Especially if my sisters are here," Mick said. "They seem to actually like you."

"Cause he's a fine lookin' man, Raffy," Granny said.

"Are you flirting with me, Granny?" Deeks asked with a laugh.

"Get on with ya, boyo," she said with a slight smile. "You're not my particular cup a tay."

"And want type would that be?" He asked, his smile widening as they all turned their attention to the tiny lady.

"I like 'em big, like my Ronan," she said boldly. "He was a fisherman. Tough and rugged lookin'."

"He was as round as he was tall from what I can remember," Mick laughed.

"Shame on ya, Raffy," she said, getting slightly red in the face. "Honor your dead grand da."

"He used to hide me when ya were on the warpath," he revealed.

"He was a softhearted sort, he was," she said wistfully.

They stood together in the kitchen then, the conversation lulling as Isabel picked up the puppy and said goodnight. Deeks nodded and hurried to leave, but Rafferty put an arm across his shoulder and walked him outside to the front steps.

"What really happened, lad?"

Deeks found that he couldn't move, the question so deeply personal, but the asking understandable. He had opened that door and he couldn't fault his partner for knowing that he wouldn't tell the truth to his grieving wife. Why he needed to know that truth, he didn't quite get, but the man was used to dealing with the realities of life and he was a bulldog about finding out the truth, whether from a suspect or from his own partner.

"Buster bit him," he answered as he stared up at the clearing night sky. "He was drunk and I knew what was coming. Fuck. Just let it go, Mick. It was a long time ago."

"I want ta know, Marty," he said. "You can trust me, lad."

"He hurt him," Deeks whispered. "Bad. I never really saw how bad because I tried to stop him and he knocked me out. When I came to, Buster was gone."

"Sonofabitch," the rawness of Mick's voice surprised him.

He wasn't sure what response he had expected, but the deep anger he saw on his partner's face was something he would never forget. He watched as the man fought his strong emotions, a war visible in his turbulent eyes.

"God, Marty. I thought I had it bad cause my dad ignored me," Rafferty said as he reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Shit, lad. You were only eight. The sick fucker."

"Like I said, it was a long time ago," he responded, trying to comfort the man for some reason. "But, being ignored would have been a dream come true."

"That's how ya knew that suspect tonight was gonna fire, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Good ol' dad had no trouble teaching me when I had pushed him too far," Deeks said bitterly. "His eyes would go dead and really dark."

"Is he the drunk that shot you?"

Deeks didn't respond, just stared at his partner before turning abruptly and starting down the steps, unwilling to take the man any deeper into the quicksand of his childhood. He had revealed enough, maybe even too much tonight and he wasn't sure that was a good thing.

"Don't pity me, Rafferty," he warned. "I don't need that from you."

"Got it," he replied roughly as he followed him out to the car. "You'll have ta pick me up in the mornin'. My truck is still at the station."

"I'm so sorry, man," Deeks said as he turned to face him. "I don't have any idea how you must feel, but I am so sorry for your loss. I shouldn't have told that story. If it upset you or Isabel, I apologize."

"It got our minds off our own troubles, lad," he replied softly. "I'm just glad she liked the puppy."

"You ought to be glad Sadie didn't poop in your kitchen," Deeks laughed, happy to be back on steadier ground.

"Comes with the territory, I guess," Rafferty said.

"See you in the morning."

"Deeks? Don't tell Erin."

He nodded slightly when he heard the quiet request from his partner. He sensed the newly born connection between them, a bond formed by acknowledging one another's pain. They had shared a small but important piece of themselves and he could feel the change in their relationship.

"Whatever was said tonight is just between us, Mick," Deeks called out. "All of it."

"Agreed."

Deeks let out a long ragged breath as he pulled away from the Rafferty house, his thoughts returning to the goofy looking dog that had given him one of the happier weeks of his young life. He'd always felt guilty for bringing the dog home, knowing how his father felt about them. It had been a selfish act, but he hadn't realized that at the time. He'd only wanted a companion and something to cuddle, as Mick had instinctively known Isabel needed. He hadn't told Mick why he'd been hiding in a cardboard box in an alley overnight, but thought he'd guessed the reason and probably accounted for his angry reaction to what his father had done to him and to Buster. That had surprised him. He never expected anyone to understand what he'd gone through and he never liked to talk about it, so when Mick Rafferty had jumped to his defense without a moment's hesitation it had felt good, a new and unfamiliar experience. The man had wanted to fight for him, to take on his violent father even though the event had happened long ago. He thought his partner's response was related to his own terrible loss of a child, so his fatherly need to protect had been extended to include him and that touched him. He hadn't experienced that before, even with Vernon.

His thoughts returned to Buster, that scraggily mess of a dog, and even after all these years he still wanted to believe the mutt had escaped. He had survived on the streets all alone for a long time. He wasn't a puppy when he found him and he knew how tough he was, so he knew he would have fought for his survival and for his freedom. He'd always thought he'd escaped because his father never mentioned him again, and that wasn't like him. If he had killed Buster, he would have taunted him about it, but he never had. His father's silence was the only proof he had that the dog had embarrassed him by escaping and there was no way he would have admitted that to his eight-year-old son.

...

...


	15. Chapter 15

**The Collector**

_Chapter 15_

...

Yesterday's spring storm had left breathtaking waves in its wake and Deeks had called Erin before the sun was up to try and convince her to join him at his favorite surfing spot. She wasn't an early riser on weekends so he was gambling that she would even speak to him at all without cussing like a drunken sailor. She had watched him surf a few times, but had no desire to try it herself, content to watch him ride a few sets while reading her latest book, usually one as thick as phone books used to be. The woman was incredibly intelligent and their arguments over the state of world affairs, new age philosophy and especially the use of force by federal agencies and the police had become legendary among her group of friends and her family. He loved to irritate her by taking the side of an argument he knew would make her apoplectic, laughing at her when she got red in the face whenever he made a decent point that even he didn't believe. She'd accused him of baiting her on more than one occasion just so they could have make-up sex and he never denied it. She was a fantastic lover and he spent as much time with her as he could. She worked longer hours than he did, so her weekends were special to them and she much preferred sleeping in with them both naked than getting sand all over her ass watching him surf, and he usually didn't argue that, but today was different.

"Come on, Sweet Cheeks, the waves are fantastic," he coaxed, using his most seductive voice. "I'll buy you breakfast..."

"Don't even finish that sentence Marty," she murmured. "Unless you're taking me to the Polo Lounge...oh wait. Not only can you not afford it, they don't allow entrance to men wearing board shorts and sporting a tangled head of hair sticky with salt."

"Salt is not sticky and you're just being mean because you had a late night," he said, laughing gently.

"I got home at three in the morning," her voice fading as if she were falling back to sleep. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty," he said tentatively.

"Are you insane?" She shouted.

"Well, you do drive me crazy," he answered softly. "I won't even wear a wetsuit."

"You're pathetic if you think that promise will even get a rise out of me," she moaned.

"You know you like to see me naked," he chided as he tried to charm her. "And wet."

"You agree to surf naked and I'll come," she pronounced.

"Okay, but I'll probably be arrested and it could ruin my career," he answered. "And your brother will have to get another partner."

"That would piss Granny off," she said quietly. "That woman adores you for some reason."

"She thinks I'm a fine lookin' man," he practically chirped.

"She's eighty."

"Your point?"

"Do you infuriate my brother like you do me?"

"He's never seen me naked," Deeks said, warming to the banter.

"Well that's good to know," she mumbled.

"Comin' Babe?"

"Okay, okay, but you better put on an amazing show or no sex for a week," she threatened.

"Not liking the terms, but I accept the challenge," he laughed, delighted that he had won.

When he pulled up at her place she was waiting outside in long pants and a sweatshirt, her face dour, a warning look in her sleepy eyes.

"It's freezing out," she complained as she slammed the door.

"Now you see what a sacrifice I'm making for you when I agreed to surf without a wetsuit," he said with a crooked grin.

"Naked would still be more impressive," she answered.

"The results wouldn't be," he said shivering dramatically, finally getting a laugh out of her.

The past two months had been a whirlwind of passion and lust and their relationship had lasted longer than most for him. She had been in a long-term affair that had ended badly, so she wasn't looking for anything permanent. Fun was the main goal for both, although he had felt himself being drawn in deeper almost from the beginning, worrying what would happened if they broke up, mainly because of her family. He never tired of going to their family gatherings and he didn't want to jeopardize that. Rafferty had never asked about their relationship and he had only been to family dinners a couple of times with her. She didn't want her family's scrutiny anymore than he did, and she chafed under any questions about their relationship, storming out of the last dinner leaving him behind to field questions. They had argued about it later that night and although the make up sex had been torrid, his next few days with his partner had been full of silences.

"Are you on speaking terms with my brother again?" She asked as they pulled into the parking lot above the beach.

"We worked it out," he said quietly, unwilling to give much away.

"Why doesn't he just stay out of my life," she snapped.

"Do you know how lucky you are?" He asked, suddenly emotional. "You are surrounded by a loving family and a brother who only wants to protect you."

"Did he tell you he practically strangled my last boyfriend?" She asked, her face stark and full of unresolved anger.

"Did he have a reason?"

"The guy was a professor of English Lit," she said.

"That doesn't answer my question," he said as he took his board off the roof.

"You're as violence minded as he is," she said icily.

"Come on Erin. Your brother's one of the finest cops I know. He's not gonna choke a guy out for no reason," Deeks told her. "Besides, I happen to know you own a gun, so don't lecture me about my violent tendencies, which is a bit insulting considering I'm a cop."

She turned without answering and shouldered her large beach bag, stomping off toward the beach.

"Terrific," Deeks mumbled under his breath.

Her accusation had stunned him. He didn't want to believe he might have inherited what he feared most, the violent streak in his father. Had she spoken the truth? Had she seen something in him that he couldn't see in himself? His father had never thought he was wrong, was never sorry for his actions, justifying them loudly, laying the blame for his violent reactions on either his mother or on him. Was he blind in the same way?

He slowly gathered his things, his hand shaking slightly as he hefted his board and followed her. He needed this surf even more now and he hurried toward the pounding waves, pushing the disturbing thoughts down deep.

She had found a spot near the cliff that offered some protection from the wind and pulled out a large blanket, which he helped her spread out. He reached for her before she could settle down onto it, and she looked up at him with a hint of defiance that surprised him.

"Erin, please, I don't want to fight," he said softly, brushing a strand of her hair away that the wind had blown across her face.

"Then don't take my brother's side every time," she replied.

"We're both on your side. Can't you understand that?" He asked, perplexed by her attitude.

"I suppose," she said softly as he pulled her close.

"Tell me you're not jealous of your own brother?" He asked with a slow spreading smile.

"Tell me you're not a conceited jerk," she laughed.

He kissed her gently and he could feel her tremble as he ran his hand up under her sweatshirt, his thumb caressing the warm skin of her back.

"I'm a single minded jerk," he whispered as he kissed her under the ear.

"You're a sexy jerk," her voice throaty as she tugged at his tee shirt. "Now get naked and surf for me."

"I never agreed to the naked thing," he said as she pulled his shirt off.

"Well you better go surf before the waves run out," she said, pushing him away. "I don't want to be here all day. I have plans."

"And what might those be?"

"I have to seduce a sexy surfer I know," she smiled, then kissed him and plopped down on the blanket and reached for her bag.

"Anyone I know?"

"You are a conceited jerk," she laughed.

He let her be then and began to prep his board, the familiar exercise warming him a little in the blustering wind. It was cold and he wished briefly that he had brought his wetsuit, but he had promised and he didn't want to disappoint her. The tops of the waves misted in the wind and the roar was drawing him as it always did. Clipping his leash to his board, his mind turned back to Erin's comment about her brother, wondering why she wouldn't tell him what had caused Mick to throttle a man. He wasn't an irrational kind of guy, being almost methodical in his way of dealing with things. He did get angry on occasion, but he had never seen him lose control. He was determined to find out what had happened, but first the massive waves were calling.

He felt nothing but freedom as he ran into the frothy white water, throwing himself happily onto his board and paddling strongly toward the retreating surf. Coming out of a duck dive under an oncoming wave, he gasped at the freezing sting of the ocean, shaking the water from his hair as he paddled for the outback beyond the break. The waves were cranking and he recognized a few of the surfers at the lineup, acknowledging them with a nod and a smile as he turned to face the beach. A huge wave surged beneath him almost immediately and he pushed to catch it. He dropped down the face, the rush and thrill cleansing his mind of every thought as he settled into the pocket, cutting and working it, kicking out only when the wave started to flatten out. He lost track of time, catching wave after wave until his arms and legs felt like limp noodles, finally riding his last wave all the way in, searching the beach for Erin's familiar auburn hair.

He hadn't realized how cold he was until his teeth started chattering and he hurried to find the spot where he'd left her. When he got there she was snoring softly and he laughed as he dropped his board and undid his leash. The wind whipped around him, deeply chilling him and he searched through his stuff for something warm to get into. He toweled off, but the goosebumps remained.

"You're shivering," Erin said sleepily as she sat up.

"Colder than I thought," he managed to say.

"You're lips are blue," she said with concern. "Get over here."

He dropped down next to her and she pulled him down beside her, flipping the blanket over them both, wrapping them in a warm cocoon as he snuggled into her arms. She held him tightly, kissing his cold face as he shivered uncontrollably.

"Was it worth it, Blue Boy?" She asked.

"Uh huh," he croaked out. "But this is nice too."

"You're freezing," she whispered softly as she nuzzled his ear.

"Did you enjoy the show?" He mumbled against the rise and fall of her chest.

"Couldn't take my eyes off you," she told him.

"You were asleep the whole time I was out there, weren't you?"

"Was not."

"I'm a cop. I can tell when someone's lying," he said as he leaned back, flashing a crooked smile. "And I know when someone is hiding something."

Her smile disappeared with his last sentence and she pushed away from him, sitting up, suddenly angry again.

"I'm not one of your suspects, so don't try to interrogate me," she spit out.

"No you're not. You're someone I care about," he said as he sat up next to her and ran his hand up into her hair.

"That doesn't mean you get to know everything about me," she said. "I can recall a conversation we had when we first met. You told me you wanted to keep part of your life private. Shouldn't you afford me the same consideration?"

"But I told you who my monster was," he said softly. "Who's yours, Erin?"

"Don't make me talk about it," she whispered.

"But you told Mick, didn't you," he said.

"He went crazy. I'd never seen him like that," she said solemnly. "I thought he was going to kill him."

"The professor."

"Yes."

She shed no tears, which surprised him, appearing stoic and almost icily calm and that bothered him.

"How badly did he hurt you?" He asked, trying to control his own rising anger.

"It wasn't physical," she confided coolly. "No need to defend my honor. He left the state after my brother threatened him."

"You're not going to tell me are you?"

"I don't want you to know."

He suddenly felt detached and got up and started gathering his things. She had no wish to let him get closer than he already was. He had shared a deeply personal part of his life, but she wouldn't let him share hers and he thought it unfair. She had comforted him then, but would not allow him to do the same. He felt an emptiness because of that, and a coldness he hadn't expected from her. Maybe it was his fault for pushing so hard, for wanting to know more about her, not just the silly, fun part of her life, but the deeper things that would mean their relationship was more than satisfying a sexual need. It hurt. He felt rejected and that old feeling of not being worthy stormed back with a vengeance.

"Marty?"

"What?"

"Are we okay?"

"Not sure how to answer that," he said. "I'll take you home."

The ride home was silent and sad, their last conversation hanging heavily between them. Neither one was willing to break that silence and he knew their relationship had suffered a fatal blow. Maybe he had learned something. Maybe he was better at keeping things light, not delving into the serious details of life. God knows it was safer.

He dropped her off at her apartment, and she gave him a quick kiss that he didn't have the energy to return. He could see the anger and a little flash of hurt in her eyes as he mumbled a goodbye, then she turned and walked away.

...

The rest of his day had been a blur of doing menial tasks, anything that would keep him from thinking too much, so when he saw who was calling, he welcomed the distraction with a smile.

"Nika."

"No. Little Nika just got busted for drugs, Officer Deeks," a deep voice replied. "She started muttering your name and gave us her phone to call you."

"Who the hell is this?" He demanded.

"It's Officer Purcell. Rafferty's screwed over ex-partner. Maybe you remember punching me in the face at O'Malley's."

"Yeah, I remember you," he replied. "Is she okay?"

"She's a hot little thing for a Goth," Purcell said, his voice annoying. "But right now she ain't lookin' so good. Had to call an ambulance."

"What's wrong? Did she OD?" He asked frantically.

"Looks like it," Purcell answered. "Thought you might want to come down and check it out."

"Yeah, I would. Where are you?"

He wondered briefly why the man was being this considerate, but he felt an intense need to make sure Nika was all right, so he ignored his doubts. He got the address and rushed out into the night, breaking a few traffic laws on the way. He screamed off the Santa Monica Freeway and drove into the seedier section of the Fashion District. The last time he had spoken to Nika she said she had gotten a job at one of the design companies there, telling him she was going to try and work her way up to designing clothes. She thought she'd be good at it and he had agreed. She had been excited and he felt a certain sadness that he hadn't talked with her in over three months. He finally saw the flashing lights of an ambulance and the patrol car ahead of him and pulled over to the curb. Nika was already on a gurney and he moved quickly to her side.

"Nika? Hey, Cupcake," he said softly as the EMTs worked on her.

She was so pale and limp, sweating profusely and trembling and he looked worriedly up at the medic. The look of concern on his face scared him a bit, so he took her hand, but got no response.

"Is she gonna make it?" He asked breathlessly.

"Her pulse is thready and her vitals aren't good," he said. "She was convulsing when we got here."

"Shit," he said under his breath. "Where you taking her?"

"Med Center on Grand," he replied as they loaded her into the back.

"Can I ride along?"

"The cops over there said to tell you no," he answered as he jumped inside. "Sorry man. We'll do our best."

"Thanks buddy," he replied, a hint of anger filling his chest as he turned to look at Purcell and his new partner.

"She's hot, Deeks," Purcell said as he sauntered up to him. "You two do drugs together?"

"I don't do drugs," he said tightly and turned back toward his car.

"Not what I heard," the insinuation irritating, especially coming from him.

"Bobby here says you were high the night your old partner was killed," Purcell persisted, following him across the dark street.

"Well Bobby got it wrong," he said sharply as he reached for the door handle of his car.

"You shouldn't have hit me, asshole," Purcell growled.

The incredible sharpness of the pain as the blunt end of the baton hit him low in the side made him collapse against the side of the car, gasping and trying to stay on his feet. The second blow broadside across his back ribs almost sent him to his knees, but he managed to turn and grab Bobby's baton, twisting it and trying to wrest it from his grasp. Purcell was too quick though, and viciously backhanded the dark baton into his groin and that did take him to his knees. He expected the kick, and had trouble catching his breath as he fought to protect himself, managing to get in a couple of gut punches before they beat him to the ground, kicking him without mercy. Dragging him to his feet, they slung him face down across the hood of his car, Purcell whipping the length of his baton down on his back again and again and across the back of his legs until he passed out. Someone slapped him awake and by then he was sitting on the ground, slumped against the front tire, his arms wrapped protectively around his body.

"You tell anybody about this and that little Goth chick goes down for dealing, not just possession," Purcell warned, punctuating his threat with a hard kick to his kidneys and he blacked out again.

He woke in the darkness amongst the sparse weeds breaking through a broken concrete sidewalk, his face pressed against the cold metal of a chain link fence. He tried to move, to see where he was, his mind fuzzy and the pain so overwhelming he retched out the Chinese take out he'd had for dinner. He reached up and grabbed hold of the chain link and struggled to pull himself up, crying out as his muscles contracted in pain. He managed to sit up, but his breathing was shallow and he was overcome by a wave of nausea, and ended up on his face again. He didn't lose consciousness though, and was able to see his car in the distance, but he doubted he could reach it. His body hummed with dull pain, punctuated by bright slivers of sharp agony whenever he moved, so he stayed still, hoping his mind would clear.

He'd remembered to bring his phone, so he struggled to find it, unsure what pocket he'd put it in. Purcell had threatened him if he told anyone, but he needed help and he knew Rafferty would come if he called. He toyed with the idea of crawling for the car, but knew he wouldn't be able to drive if he could even make it that far. When he finally managed to pull his phone out he called Mick.

"It's two in the morning Deeks, so if you're stranded at a bikini bar, I'm not picking ya up," his partner mumbled sleepily after six rings.

"Raffy..." Was all he could say before he began to cough, moaning as his battered muscles spasmed.

"Marty? Talk to me," Rafferty said sharply. "Where are ya?"

"Fashion District," he whispered. "Somewhere off Pico I think...Myrtle maybe."

"You shot?" His voice strangely strangled.

"No. Just beat to shit," he choked out as his mind began to fog.

"I'm comin', lad," he promised. "Hang in there, ya hear me? Marty?"

Deeks heard him, but he was having trouble breathing and couldn't get any words to come out. The phone slipped from his hand, but he could hear Mick yelling at him, trying to keep him awake. The last thing he heard was the roar of his truck's engine and he let himself drift into the darkness.

...

Rafferty rarely got emotional except when it came to family and even then he was usually able to control it somewhat. On the job he kept his wits about him, taking his time to evaluate any given problem he came up against. He believed that if you let your emotions get the better of you, you were bound to make a mistake and he didn't like making mistakes. He thought it was one of the few things he got from his father, the most unemotional man he had ever met.

Deeks' call had thrown all of his vaunted control out the window, surprising Isabel and shocking the hell out of himself. He'd never heard his grandmother's nickname for him uttered so desperately and so filled with pain, almost changing the way he felt about it. He had never warmed to it until tonight. His partner had managed to convey everything in the way he spoke that single, silly name, his need so naked and yet filled with hope and the knowledge that he would come. His partner's trust was embodied in that name now, and he found comfort in that knowledge, it connected them, cementing their partnership and their friendship.

As he wove through the sparse traffic on the freeway, he tried to make sense out of what might have happened to Deeks. He was having trouble controlling his temper and his fear for him. He had never gotten terribly close to any of his previous partners, always keeping things professional, but he had found it difficult to do with Marty. He seemed younger than his years, almost innocent in his attitude, although he knew from what little he'd shared that he'd been blooded early in life and the aura of innocence he projected was either a mask or the amazing result of overcoming his childhood. It was if he was surprised by his own survival and was determined to make the best out of his life, wanting to make his life mean something.

Rafferty gripped the wheel tightly as he pulled off the freeway and onto the surface streets, gunning the engine as he rounded the corner onto the dark deserted street his partner had mentioned. It was a bleak industrial area housing manufacturing companies, storage facilities and warehouses used by the fashion industry. Some of the buildings had obviously been abandoned and there were only a few streetlights working. He was becoming anxious as he searched for Deeks, pounding the steering wheel in frustration when he could find no sign of him. He decided to take an alley midway down the street and saw Deeks' car parked at an odd angle by the curb at the end. He roared to a stop beside it and grabbed a flashlight, automatically feeling behind his back for his weapon as he leaped out to begin his search.

"Marty!" He shouted as he circled the car. "Where are ya, lad?"

He stopped to listen in the stillness of the early morning, but got no response.

"Damn, lad. You're scaring me now," he half whispered to himself.

He swept the strong beam of his flashlight over the surrounding hardscape, calling his name, stopping to listen as he moved along the dirty sidewalk. He stopped when he thought he heard the particular sound of chain link and turned toward it, his flashlight beam finding the short, broken fence and then the body that lay against it.

"Fuck."

He hardly ever swore, but as he ran toward his partner no other words came to mind. The beam of his flashlight illuminated Deeks' crumpled form and his weak attempt to lift himself as he clawed at the fence. He dropped down beside him, leaving the flashlight shining on the sidewalk, looking him over and surprised by the lack of blood. Other than a red welt along his jawline, he had no other marks on his face, but there were dark fingered bruises on his upper arms.

"I'm here, lad," he said quietly as he eased Deeks' hand out of the chain link and got an arm under his shoulders.

He cried out when he lifted him, his breathing rapid and shallow as he moaned, turning into him as he gathered him close. The efforts had caused his thin tee shirt to ride up, revealing dark angry marks made by a familiar weapon, and he felt white-hot anger roar through him.

"Marty? Can ya hear me?" He said softly as he brushed the hair off his clammy forehead, worrying that he was going into shock.

"Raffy?"

"Were ya expecting the Ladies Aid Society, lad?" He quipped, trying to make them both feel better.

"They're probably a lot cuter," he gasped out.

"I know it was a cop, Marty. Who was it?" He asked, his voice now urgent and angry, thinking it had been someone still carrying a grudge over Vernon James' death.

"Purcell...and his partner," his whispering voice harsh as he spit out the name.

"That fuckin' bastard," Mick choked out in a stunned voice. "I'll kill 'im."

"No, no, Raff," Deeks said anxiously as he grabbed his arm. "If he knows I told you, he'll write up Nika for dealing drugs."

"The girl from the group you saved the night of the riots?"

"They got her for possession, but she OD'd," Deeks voice was slurring now and Rafferty knew he had to get him to an ER. "Purcell called...I had to come...she's..."

"Come on now, lad," Mick said gently as his partner slid toward unconsciousness. "Let's get you to the hospital."

"Med Center. Nika's there."

Mick slung Deeks' arm across his shoulder and slowly eased him to his feet, disconcerted by the low moans of pain his partner couldn't stifle. They slowly made their way to his truck; Deeks breathing rasping out with almost every step, and his mind raged with the knowledge that his partner's suffering was his fault. Deeks had come to his defense on the first day of their partnership and this was what he'd gotten for it. He'd always known there was something missing in Purcell, but he never figured him for a coward. Now he knew just how vindictive he was and he had to find a way to make him answer for this without causing more trouble for Deeks and the young woman he cared about.

...

...


End file.
